


Nightfighter

by NoiraKai



Category: Starfighter (Comic)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - World War II, Blood, Homophobic Language, M/M, Most named characters will make an appearance, Scarification, a lil bit of Roleplaying, oh look at all these new tags what is happening!, references to Sadism/Masochism
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-08-12
Updated: 2014-02-17
Packaged: 2017-12-23 01:12:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 27,883
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/920233
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NoiraKai/pseuds/NoiraKai
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>World War II AU.  Abel adjusts to his new assignment as the pilot of a Nightfighter, and gets to know his mysterious new crew-mate, Cain.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Monday, May 22, 1944  
** **Vincenzo Airfield, Western Italy**

 

“You can head on in, sir, he's expecting you,” the Corporal said without taking his eyes off of his typewriter, trying to pretend like it wasn't him who had just woken Cain up entirely too early. It was just after noon, but the clicking of the typewriter's keys and the thump-thump-thump of a dog's tail in the next room still rattled around in Cain's head like so many spare engine parts. According to his schedule, it might as well have been five in the morning.

“I kind of thought today was my day off,” Cain groaned to the red-headed Corporal.

Etheridge just shrugged, looking at him with wide, apologetic eyes before going back to his typing.

Cain strode through the door into Colonel Cook's office. The office was small, and rather sparsely decorated, but was still one of the most civilized structures in the camp, compared to the tents that Cain and the other men slept in. When they weren't getting pulled out of bed to report to the C.O., that is.

Cain stood up slightly straighter, hoping it would suffice in lieu of coming to attention before breakfast. It probably would, since the Colonel was too busy flipping through a folder full of papers to look up at his visitor.

In contrast, Cook's Labrador retriever, with fur almost as white as his owner's hair, was almost too excited to see him. Shakespeare sat beside the Colonel with his tongue hanging out, his tail happily thumping even harder against the scavenged plywood floor, as the dog wordlessly welcomed the junior officer.

“You wanted to see me sir?” Cain asked by way of announcing himself, and then pressed his lips together to fight a yawn that was creeping up in the back of his throat. He silently wished the coffee would be extra strong when he finally got some grub.

Cook continued studying the papers, shifting his glasses lower on his nose, as if he was reading something he didn't like. He only acknowledged the Lieutenant with an absent-minded gesture of his hand and three words. “Please, sit down.”

Cain did so, carefully studying the commander as he reclined back in the offered chair and hooked one ankle over his other knee. Since Cook had not offered him a cigarette, as was his custom, this was obviously not a friendly visit. Cain blinked his sleepy eyes a few times, and searched through the rattling engine parts in his brain, for anything he might have done recently that would piss the Colonel off.

“Well, your papers have finally caught up with you, Cain,” the Colonel said at last.

Cain raised an inquisitive eyebrow, careful not to make any other movements that might indicate he knew all too well what Cook was referring to.

“I think I see now... why they made you a navigator, and not a pilot,” Cook commented as he continued looking through the file. He sounded only slightly amused.

“Is that so, sir?” Cain inquired with biting sarcasm. He knew exactly why he had not become a fighter pilot... how that coveted assignment had somehow eluded him because he was simply too damn good.

“Well, it says here... you crashed three planes before you even got your wings!” At last, Cook looked up from the papers, leaning back in his chair and giving Cain a hard look as he folded his arms. “What do you have to say for yourself?”

Cain wrapped his own arms around himself sulkily. “It's not my fault they gave me shitty trainer planes... sir.” He hoped the extra courtesy would cancel out the swear. “Really, I was doing well just to stay alive, while I got them back on the ground!” He gestured dramatically with his hands to emphasize his innocence, flashing back to all the other times he'd had to have this conversation as a cadet. “They have some sort of loose bolt in the control column --”

“And when you...” Cook leaned back over his desk, and flipped through to a specific page of the file. “...flew your plane through the open doors of a barn? Was that due to some fault with the aircraft as well?”

Cain froze for a fraction of a second, but couldn't help but snort a laugh as he remembered the incident. “Well, no, sir... well, that was just a bit of fun,” he answered, and flashed his charming, can-do-no-wrongs smile. It was a smile he'd found a lot of use for in the army.

“I see...” The Colonel warily narrowed his eyes. “And there's a curious gap in the dates here, right before your deployment to Italy.”

The smile melting from his face, Cain shifted further into his seat. “Well, that's right about the time I lost my papers, sir,” he explained pointedly.

“Hmm... yes...” Cook pondered, folding his hands together as he looked at the Lieutenant with a discerning glare. “No doubt there was something you didn't want following you over here.”

Cain pursed his lips to keep himself from looking guilty, though he wasn't guilty of what Cook seemed to be accusing him of. “I'm sorry, sir?” he asked.

“Perhaps there was some reason that you 'lost' your papers?”

Cain laughed nervously and deflected the Colonel's question with a question. “What, are you saying that I lost them on _purpose?”_

Cook gave him a small, knowing shrug. “Maybe your tomfoolery finally caught up to you, and you were given a demerit that didn't make it to the official records for some reason,” Cook guessed. “Knowing you, you probably went AWOL in New Orleans to go to some jazz club...”

The Colonel was way off base. Well... mostly off base. It was true that Cain had a weakness for good music, but he was too smart to get caught going AWOL just for that.

Cain quickly decided, however, that it might be best to let Cook believe what he wanted. The truth was a secret he would never –- could never tell.

He deflected the accusation with another question. “Is there a point to all of this speculation, _sir?”_ Most of the time, Cook was reasonable enough of a commander not to wake soldiers up, just to talk about their past transgressions. This did not seem to be one of those times, however.

Cook sat up a little straighter, adjusting his glasses as he looked at Cain. “Lieutenant, I understand from General Bering's orders that I am to... allow you a certain amount of freedom here on my base.”

This time, Cain resisted the urge to shift in his seat, or make any movement at all.

“And I may be able to turn a blind eye, to some degree, when it comes to your... 'special projects',” Cook continued. “But when it comes to _fun_... I won't always be able to protect you.”

Cain gave his commander a tight, grateful nod. “I understand, sir.”

"You have a lot of potential, and I'm sure that Bering thinks so, too. As my lead navigator, I need you to set an example for the other men. "

"Of course, sir," Cain answered in earnest. 

The Colonel stood up then, straightening his uniform and his tie. Cain stood up too, and tried not to feel too much like a boot-licker when Shakespeare also followed suit, rising up and padding over to Cook with a wagging tail.

“All that to say,” Cook sighed, finally getting to the point of their meeting. “Your replacement pilot is due to arrive at any time. I'm headed to the mission briefing. Meet him here, and get him settled in -- and for God's sake, try to get along with this one, Cain! It was a lot of trouble for me to make another trade with the four fifty-fifth, I don't know if I'll be able to do it again.”

“Yes, sir,” Cain answered as he followed Cook into the other room, resisting the urge to roll his eyes in case Cook had a second pair in the back of his head.

“You'll need to bring him up to speed quickly, Cain. I need you in the lead plane again soon. Come on, Shakesy...” Cook called, and disappeared out the door, leaving Cain there with Etheridge and the enthusiastic clicking of typewriter keys, and the grumbling of his empty stomach.

 

* * *

 

 

The drive from San Giovanni to Vincenzo was a short one, just about an hour's trip through the Italian countryside.  Outside, it was peaceful, Lieutenant Abel observed. The only war apparent here was the war within himself. Had he made the right decision, accepting the transfer to this new unit? That, and a thousand other questions ricocheted through his mind like so many stray bullets. 

As the jeep pulled into his new home, Abel took note that he was moving from an olive grove to a vineyard: rows and rows of neglected and overgrown vines interrupted by the same pyramid tents they'd had at the 455th. And off in the distance, the carcass of an enemy fighter, shot down to the ground and stripped of materials, left clean as a skeleton by a very different kind of scavenger. 

“Well, this is it, sir,” the driver declared as soon as the jeep came to a halt.

Abel jumped out of the jeep, lifted his large suitcase out of the back, and walked over to shake the Corporal's hand. “Good luck, Vicks. Maybe we'll meet again someday,” he said hopefully.

Vicks snorted. “Huh! You're just goin' down the street sir, it's not like you're goin' home or anything!”

“Well, might as well be back in California with all these grapevines,” Abel said as he surveyed his surroundings. “Maybe you can come back when the grapes are ripe, and try your hand at making bootleg wine,” he teased.

“Hmph, think I'll stick to moonshine, sir,” Vicks replied with a skeptical chuckle.

“All right then, Vicks. Take care of yourself. That's an order,” Abel commanded lightheartedly as he waved the Corporal away.

“Yes, sir!” Vicks answered sharply, all too happy to comply. “You too, sir!” he called out as the jeep's engine revved, and the vehicle circled around and sped back towards the main road.

 

And then Abel was alone. On a strange continent, in a strange country, in a strange camp. He took in a deep breath, and sighed a quiet sigh. 

 

Off in the distance, he could see a small building, which looked like it might be a small office, but was humble enough that it might be a large latrine. He headed towards it, reminding himself one more time that he had volunteered for the trade to the 47th, that this had been his idea, despite not knowing what the reason for the trade had actually been... and therefore he had no business complaining if things didn't turn out.

Abel stumbled through the door, knocking his suitcase against the doorframe as he stepped inside, and met eyes with a dark and very handsome young man. The lapel on his collar told Abel that the man was a First Lieutenant like himself. The rank didn't mean that much though. Anyone going to be flying over enemy territory was made an officer first. It was well known that the Nazi's treated prisoners of war better if they were officers. Having brass on your collar only meant you were more likely to get captured or killed. It was something that Abel couldn't explain to his mother, however, so he just had to let the folks at home think they were supposed to be pleased as punch, instead of worried to death.

At the desk on the other side of the room, was a Corporal with red, curly hair, who looked like he had probably lied about his age to get into the army. Keeping him company was a very excited, very friendly-looking yellow lab.

Since everyone was staring at him, Abel cleared his throat and quickly composed himself. “Uh, I'm here to report to Colonel Cook...?”

“Cook's not here,” the other Lieutenant answered as he peeled himself out of his chair. “He's gone to the briefing.”

“Oh...” Abel's mind went blank, unsure of what to do if he couldn't report in. Things had to be done in a certain order. That was just the way Abel's mind worked. “Well... will he be back soon?” he tried.

The Lieutenant sauntered over to him with a hand on his hip. “No. You the new pilot?”

“Yeah, name's Ethan Abel,” he answered and stuck out an enthusiastic hand. “How do you do?”

“Cain,” the raven-haired man gruffly replied, and gave Abel a very efficient handshake. “I'm your navigator. That there's Etheridge, the company clerk,” he said, gesturing behind him.

“Oh, hello!” Abel gave the Corporal a smile over Cain's shoulder.

“Nice to meet you!” Etheridge replied. Though he didn't say as much, the lab seemed to concur with the sentiment. Abel wondered if he should expect a formal introduction to the dog.

But Cain seemed a bit bored with the pleasantries. “Lemme show you to your tent. You're bunking with me.”

“Oh! All right...” Abel pleasantly conceded as he followed Cain out the door. “I –- I guess I can get settled in, before I report in... heh!” Abel started to laugh at his own joke, but halted abruptly when Cain only raised a confused eyebrow at him. Abel looked down at the ground. He supposed the joke wasn't all that funny anyway.

Carrying his suitcase, Abel struggled to keep up as Cain led him through the vineyard, and the array of tents scattered throughout. He was also struggling for something to say, something that would be interesting and intelligent. He was getting the sense he hadn't made such a great first impression.

Luckily, Cain broke the silence for him, looking behind to make sure Abel was still following. “You ever flown an A-20 bomber before?” he asked.

“Uh, no...” Abel answered regretfully. “We were flying Liberators at the four fifty-fifth.”

“Smaller crew with the Havoc,” Cain explained. “It'll just be me, you and one gunner.”

“Well, that will be... interesting,” Abel remarked, being entirely used to a crew of ten, with six gunners to protect his ship.

“She flies pretty, though,” Cain answered in counter to Abel's skepticism. “Doesn't mind if you throw her around like a fighter plane. You can be pretty rough with her and she'll love you all the same.”

“Oh...” Abel detected his cheeks getting a shade warmer, as he scrunched his face into a grin at Cain's innuendo. “I thought you said you were a navigator!”

“I am,” Cain answered flatly and looked back at Abel again. 

“Well, heh, you sound like a pilot, talking like that about your ship.”

Cain stopped at the entrance to a particular tent, which Abel assumed was theirs. “...Was supposed to be...” he said quietly.

“Oh!” Abel's eyes went wide with worry. “Well, what happened?”

The other man didn't answer, but instead held the tent flap open and gestured for Abel to enter. “After you...” 

Abel pulled his suitcase inside the small dwelling. It looked much like the one he'd shared with part of his crew at San Giovanni. The same makeshift stove made from a fifty-five gallon drum, the same dull light bulb hanging in the center... but in this tent there were four cots, and only one of them looked occupied.

Still holding the suitcase, Abel turned carefully around and looked at Cain. “You've... had the tent all to yourself?”

“Yep,” Cain answered and sat on the cot on the left side, that was obviously his.

“Well...” Abel turned to the cot that was immediately across the way. “I guess I'll take this one then, if that's all right?”

The other man shrugged in consent. “You'll have to get used to the schedule here,” he reminded, as Abel set his suitcase down and sat on the bed. “We're Nightfighters, so we sleep during the day. You'll only have a few days to get used to it before--”

“Yo CAIN!” a cocky sounding voice interrupted from outside the tent. “Is that your new pilot, or just another one of your hookers?”

Abel's eyebrows shot up in distress. Unsure of whether to be mortified first by the insult or his tent-mate's alleged activities, Abel just watched as Cain's face morphed into a scowl of almost murderous intensity. “If you'll excuse me for a second...” the dark-haired man strained to say politely.

“Oh... by all means,” Abel replied. He stayed put while Cain stood up and menacingly rolled his head from side to side.

 

“Actually, Porter,” Cain said as he exited through the tent flap. “I tried calling your mom, but she was busy with another customer...”

“Ohhhhhh,” Abel could hear several other men egging Cain on in the distance. The situation clearly had an audience.

“Whatever, Cain,” another man spat. “Everybody knows that you're a fucking fairy. You wouldn't know what to do with a dame if you had one.”

Abel's heart skipped a beat in his chest.  _"Fairy?"_ he whispered to himself. He swallowed hard and tried to think of anything he had done since he'd gotten to camp that might have given him away. Besides failing miserably at flirting with Cain, of course. But they were talking about Cain, not him... right? 

Cain, on the other hand, sounded unphased. “Oh, I'm sure I could show Porter's old lady a better time than he could...” he mused.

“Could not!” Porter snapped back before he realized what he was saying, much to the delight of the jeering on-lookers.

Abel carefully stood up, and crept over to the tent flap to try and see what was happening. Cain was standing his ground against a very burly fellow that stood about a head taller than him. He had light-blond hair fashioned into a mo-hawk. Behind him was another blond, who's hair parted down the middle and framed his scowling face.  

“Tell you what...” Cain said with a hand on his hip. “You really miss women that bad?”

“Well shit!” Porter answered, with an insulted look on his face. “Yeah, of course.”

“Then, maybe I can do you a favor,” Cain offered with a casual tilt of his head. Abel got the sense that he wasn't being entirely sincere.

“And what's that?” the tall man replied with a condescending smirk.

“Well, how about... I put you in the hospital?” Cain suggested, as he pressed a fist into his other palm and began cracking his knuckles. “That way, you can at least have some plain-looking nurse give you a sensual _sponge bath.”_

On the inside of the tent, Abel silently clapped a hand over his mouth as he watched Porter flare his nostrils and take a threatening step closer to Cain. Not an hour in camp and he was already going to witness a fight. He couldn't help but wonder if this was the norm for the 47th Bombardment Group.

He couldn't help but wonder if this was the norm for his new tent-mate.

“How does that sound?” Cain continued. “I'll try not to fuck up your face too bad, I mean, even more than --”

Porter didn't wait for Cain to finish another insult, but instead wound up a punch aimed for his face. Cain expertly caught Porter's fist with his hand, and landed a lightning-fast blow to Porter's face, and then another, and then _another_ , and then he pretended to throw one more punch just to fake Porter out and make him flinch. The taller man took a wild swing at Cain, and threw himself off balance, and the next thing Abel knew, Porter was flat on his back on the ground, pulled off his feet by Abel's new navigator. 

Cain stood over Porter and lunged at him just to make him flinch again. “You call me a fairy again and I _will_ make your wishes come true.” He stuck out a rude middle finger to emphasize the threat. "Got it?" There was nothing but silence from the men outside as Cain straightened his clothes and stepped back into the tent. 

Abel stumbled backwards to let him in, in a hurry to get out of his way, in case he was looking for someone else to punch. But Cain just gave him an apologetic, exasperated look. 

“Sorry about that," Cain said, as if the incident had been only a minor interruption. He slumped back onto his cot. "Don't worry about what they said. Their beef is with me, not you."

Abel just gave a small nod in response, unsure of what to make of it all. 

"As I was saying, you're gonna want to stay up late tonight, so you can get on schedule. You're expected to do a night mission in just two days, and I'd prefer it if you didn't fall asleep while we're in the air.”

But Abel's one-track mind still had its priorities in a certain order. “Don't I still need to report in to the C.O. --”

“'Sfine. You'll probably meet Cook tomorrow when you do your test run in the _Reliant."_

“Oh..." Abel frowned. "All right--"

"Listen," Cain groaned. Apparently, he had decided that maybe his knuckles hurt. He winced and rubbed his fist with his other hand, and then shook his hand a few times. "It's fine. Things are pretty laid back here, you're not gonna get in trouble."

"Oh," Abel replied, and pursed his lips. "Well, I guess I'll just unpack then."  

Abel unlocked his suit case, and began to move things into the footlocker at the foot of his bed, as Cain lit up a cigarette. He looked sideways at Cain as he squatted down and arranged folded pieces of his extra uniforms into the small chest. Even after that was finished, he stayed hunched there, warring with himself about whether to ask the question burning in his mind.

He didn't even realize he was staring at Cain, until the other man caught him at it, pulling the cigarette away from his lips, as he held a cloud of smoke in his mouth and raise a discerning eyebrow. 

Abel stood up, and swallowed the knot that was swelling in his throat. “So... is it true?”

Cain shook his head and blew out a bit of the smoke before breathing an answer. “What?” 

Abel's eyes darted around the small tent in uncertainty. “What they said about you?”

The other man snorted, and leaned back on the cot on one elbow. “Which part, the part about me being a fairy, or the part about me being a fairy who has to pay men to have sex with him?"

“Um..." Well when he put it like that, the second accusation sounded pretty ridiculous, Abel thought. "The... the first part... I guess?”

Cain studied him up and down, leering at Abel's with the unspoken question,  _Why do you want to know?_

“I don't mean to pry, of course!" Abel blurted out. "I don't mean to get into your business. But..." He paused for a moment to try and make sure his words were precise. "If you _were_... I wouldn't care. I mean -- not that I wouldn't care, I just mean... I wouldn't mind..." No, that wasn't quite right either. "I mean not that I --”

“Just forget about it,” Cain muttered, not meeting Abel's eyes. 

“Oh," Abel said quietly. "All right.”

"Just finish unpacking and then I'll show you around the camp." 

"Right," Abel answered, mentally kicking himself, sure that his handsome new crew-mate thought that he was an idiot. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Tuesday, May 23, 1944**

 

It was only technically morning when Cain came back to the office, though camp was all abuzz with excitement from the ongoing mission. Most of the coordinators of the mission were up the hill at headquarters, but Etheridge was still at his post, next to the phone and the radio, looking utterly bored, since anyone that might call was most likely asleep. For that matter, it looked like the Corporal might have been asleep himself, sitting upright at his desk.

“Etheridge!” Cain barked suddenly, causing the redhead to startle, jumping to his feet at once and saluting awkwardly, and quite frankly, unnecessarily.

“Yessir!” he exclaimed, before relaxing somewhat, when he saw who it was. “Oh, Lieutenant Cain, sir!”

“I need for you to... look the other way while I use the radio,” Cain said with a dark glare that invited no protest.

Etheridge took a step back and leaned on the edge of his desk. “It's gonna cost you,” he said, attempting a wicked gleam in his eye, that actually only managed to make him look more innocent.

The Lieutenant sneered at that. “Since when is there a fee to send a message?”

“Since I figured out you're not sending official Army business... Since I got lonely,” Etheridge clarified, shrugging even more innocently than before.

“Heh, okay...” Cain said with a sarcastic chuckle. He detected that there was a slight possibility the Corporal was pulling his leg. “Stop fucking around. I need the radio.”

“I'm not fucking around,” the Corporal said quickly, and then looked down at the ground, as his face turned a slightly warmer shade of pink.

“Ha!” Cain took a step closer to Etheridge. “You're blushing just from saying the word,” he mused. “You know, Etheridge, trading favors for sex doesn't really seem like your speed.”

The younger man's shoulders began to hunch as Cain invaded his space. He knew he could probably just grab Etheridge, rough him up a bit, hog-tie him and throw him in a corner, but that would probably not be harmonious with his directive to keep from drawing attention to himself. He would have to play along with Etheridge. For now. “I'm not gonna let you fuck me. That's _not_ happening,” he negotiated sternly.

“Oh, no!” Etheridge said quietly. “I was just thinking... maybe... you could...” His voice already small, the redhead stopped there completely and swallowed nervously.

Cain tilted his head in, cocking up an eyebrow. The prospect of making Etheridge sweat it, and actually articulate what he wanted, was far too entertaining. “I could _what?”_

“You could...” Etheridge tried, halting again until Cain gestured impatiently for him to finish his sentence. “You could... _use your mouth_.”

Now to weaken his resolve. Cain faked a confused, sickened look. “You want me to do _what now?!”_

“Hey!” the redhead protested. “That's a thing people do... isn't it? And... and there's rumors going around about you--”

Rumors that he was about ready to kill someone over at the earliest opportunity. Even if they were partially true. “That's disgusting, Etheridge. You're _disgusting,”_ the Lieutenant lied, as he curled his lip to emphasize his 'disgust'.

“Well... I don't care. that's the price for using the radio,” the Corporal declared, and crossed his arms. He obviously wasn't going to back down.

Cain let out a growly sigh. “Okay,” he acquiesced gruffly. “Here's how this is gonna go.”

“O-Okay?” Etheridge mumbled, with wide, disbelieving eyes.

“I have to send two messages,” the Lieutenant explained. “There'll be about a fifteen minute wait, in between the second message and the response. So...” he shrugged suggestively. “I'll have some time to kill. For... you know...”

“Oh...” Etheridge nodded. “All right...” he said, and then just stared, frozen, until Cain gestured impatiently with his head and his eyes for Etheridge to get the machine ready.

Etheridge sat down at the radio, expertly fidgeting with wires and knobs, getting them in the right configuration. “What's the—”

“Oh, get the fuck out of the way. I'm sending it myself, dumb-ass,” Cain blurted, and pulled Etheridge, still in his chair, away from the radio. He hunched over the machine to hide it from the Corporal, turning the knob to the right frequency and putting on the headset. He typed the Morse code into the transmitter key from memory.

 

DSW DSW SN7APO520 **REQUEST SECURITY CHECK PR2** KN

 

It wasn't long before he received a response. Cain didn't write anything down, instead just visualizing the letters in his mind as he had been taught.

 

SN7 DSW **CNF GA** KN

 

A confirmation of his identification code, and the 'go ahead' to send his request, Cain translated to himself. Then he typed the name. This code he had memorized before had even come in to the office. Luckily, it wasn't very long.

 

DSW SN7 **EATBHEALN** KN

 

Cain took in a deep breath, then, and turned to Etheridge. “Well, now we wait,” he sighed.

The Corporal had stood up and was leaning up against the desk again, looking down at Cain with demure eyes. “So... um--”

Etheridge clammed up when Cain stood abruptly, crowding him up against the desk and leering at him, just to make Etheridge nervous. “But, don't--” he started. “Don't you have to wait for your response now?”

“I guess so,” Cain admitted, looking the redhead up and down.

“Well you're not –- we can't do it right here!” Etheridge exclaimed with a whisper, but the very obvious bulge in his trousers must have had a different opinion.

“Why not?” Cain asked casually.

“Because!" Etheridge hissed. "Someone could walk in on us!” 

Cain rubbed his chin, pretending to ponder, though he had long since made up his mind. “You know, it occurs to me, now that I've sent my message, I don't really need you...”

“Uh!” A light bulb visibly turning on in his head, the Corporal's jaw dropped in scandal. “Say! You tricked me!”

“Yeah...” Cain admitted with a boyish smile, and fell into the abandoned chair, kicking back and victoriously putting his hands behind his head.

Etheridge pursed his lips in more than one kind of frustration, holding his fists together over his crotch as if somehow Cain didn't know what was beneath them.

Straightening the headset over his shaggy raven hair, the Lieutenant reached into the pocket of his leather jacket and fished out a smoke and a lighter. “Fuck off, Etheridge,” he said flatly, holding the cigarette between his lips up to the flame.

But the Corporal just stood there, worry painting his face as he watched Cain blow smoke into the room and play with the cigarette with delicate fingers.

Cain gave him a knowing, almost apologetic look. “You've got fifteen minutes. I'll be here,” he promised.

Etheridge only hesitated for another moment before rushing out the door.

Cain sat there waiting for his return message, biding the time by practicing smoke rings, and listening for the sounds of the bombers as they came back down to Earth from their mission... trying to think about anything other than what Etheridge was doing, and who he was probably thinking about while he did it. He wasn't sure whether to be amused, or mortified, or turned on.

Maybe he should have actually gone through with it. It could have opened other doors for the future, he supposed. Though it was a bridge he hoped he'd never have to cross. And there was no way he could trust Etheridge with something like that anyway.

There wasn't anyone alive that he could trust. Probably even his pretty new pilot Abel was just a wolf in sheep's clothing.

Cain's eyebrows raised a fraction as his mind started to wonder what Abel would be like... what his soft, poofy brunette hair would feel like if he ran his hands through it... what Abel's hands might feel like tangled in his own hair, if Cain went down on him on a desk just like this one... what kinds of faces he would make... that seemed a lot more appealing. Abel was older than Etheridge, and wiser... just a hint of forbidden knowledge underneath his naivete. Just a hint of something in his eyes... like a delightful secret he wanted to share...

 

 

Finally, the response came across the wire, interrupting Cain's wandering thoughts.

 

SR7 SR7 DSW **GREEN SUN OF GOLD = REQ STATUS OF OP RED RIBBON** KN

 

The 'green sun of gold,' Cain filed away in his mind for later. And a request for the status of his upcoming mission, he interpreted. He tapped out the response.

 

DSW SR7 **ALL OK = EXPCT DEIMOS BY END OF WK** KN

 

SR7 DSW SK

 

Having received the unilateral declaration that the conversation was over, Cain turned the dial on the radio a few times to put it on a random frequency. He sat there, finishing his cigarette as he thought over what the message had said.

“Green, sun of gold,” he muttered to himself. Green meant the person in question was of no interest to his organization... not considered a threat, or someone that just had never popped up on their metaphorical radar.

And gold meant someone in the American government. But sun?

“Green, sun of –- Green, _son_ of gold!” he exclaimed quietly, rushing up out of the chair and headed back into the darkness, completely forgetting his promise to the company clerk. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Later that day...**

 

“Relax, sweetheart.”

Cain's voice was raspy in his ear. Abel took in a deep breath, willing himself to relax, pushing back the questions about why Cain was calling him sweetheart, and whether or not he liked it, and preparing himself mentally for what he was about to do. “Okay.”

“Okay. Ready?”

Abel hesitated a moment before answering. “Yeah, I'm ready.”

“...Go.”

Abel breathed deep into his oxygen mask, and shut off the starboard engine of the plane, quickly going through the checklist he and Cain had gone over beforehand. He tilted the controls to keep the plane level in the sky, as it began to yaw to the left. With nimble fingers under thick gloves, he pulled the lever that would keep the propeller from rotating freely and creating more resistance, while he watched his instruments to make sure he kept the speed above 135 miles per hour. Any slower now, and they would fall out of the sky.

“Now bring her up to 165 to keep the other engine cool,” Cain reminded him through the intercom.

“Got it,” Abel answered, as he increased the speed and breathed out a sigh of relief. A shiver ran down his spine, from the freezing cold and the danger of being 10,000 feet above the ground, and flying on one engine.

“Okay, so that's what you'll do if you lose an engine,” Cain summarized. “You'll want to bring the bad engine back on for landing, if possible, so go ahead and do that,” he instructed.

“Roger that,” Abel replied, “Though she seems to do pretty well with only one engine,” he noted.

“--Let it warm up a bit before you throttle too much,” Cain chastised him, completely rolling over Abel's attempt at pleasant conversation.

Abel sighed again, this time in frustration. He knew what he was doing, he just wasn't sure how to make Cain believe it. He seemed to be hyper-critical of everything that Abel did, even when he didn't say as much. Abel just seethed about it, as he turned the plane around and got ready to land.

“For your approach, put the RPM up to 2200 and hold the speed at 165. Mixture, auto-rich,” Cain instructed.

“Check,” Abel said, as he finished turning knobs and flipping levers.

“Wing flaps twenty-two and a half degrees down.”

“Check.”

“Landing gear --”

“Check,” Abel groaned as he rolled his eyes, and the plane began to drag slightly, because the landing gear was on its way down before Cain had said anything.

“Okay... now throttle back to 130,” Cain said.

Abel knew what he had to do. He had to make this landing the best landing in the history of landings. Surely that would impress Cain, and get him to stop second guessing everything Abel did. He lined himself up with the runway perfectly, slowly backing off on the throttle and pushing the wing flaps all the way down to create more resistance.

“Wing flaps full down, and come down to 115,” Cain said, several seconds too late.

Abel just ignored it, and began the final approach to the runway.

“Abel?!” Cain called out.

“I've got it,” he answered softly, and touched the aircraft down on the runway as light as a feather.

“Well, go ahead and touch down, flyboy, we can't stay one inch above the ground forever,” Cain scoffed.

“We _are_ touched down, Cain...” Abel groaned.

“Oh... _Really?!”_ Cain exclaimed, just a split second before Abel applied the breaks, and the plane's wheels began to screech against the pavement. Abel braced against the force of it, a victorious smile scrunching up his face.

 

 

Abel stood in the shadow of the _Reliant_ afterwards, cupping a flame against the wind as he lit up a much-needed cigarette, taking in a slow drag as he looked up at the painting on the side of the plane: a skinny blond with a braid falling down one shoulder, kneeling, looking away from the viewer so the face wasn't visible, wearing nothing but a pair of black unmentionables. Abel wondered if it was something Cain had commissioned for the plane, or perhaps some previous pilot's girl from back home.

Cain climbed out of his separate compartment in the nose of the ship, stretching out once his feet were on the ground, and then he fished out a cigarette of his own. “Got a light?” he said as he approached.

Abel wordlessly got his lighter back out of his jacket, holding it up for him as Cain held his cigarette forward with his lips. He was suddenly very aware of how close Cain was, how he smelled like leather and winter frost, how Cain watched him as he focused on not doing anything stupid with the flame, and not letting it go out. How Cain kept looking at him with those intense black eyes, kept standing unnecessarily close even after he was angling the cigarette away from his face and holding smoke in his open mouth.

“Beautiful landing,” was all that Cain said, after he blew some smoke up towards the sky... the first compliment he had given Abel the whole time, but it was short-lived. “But you've got to start thinking about what it's gonna be like, doing that in the dark. With night bombing, you can't see what you're doing, so you're gonna have to do what I tell you.”

Abel didn't like that idea one bit. He gave Cain a surly glare. “What is it gonna take for you to get off my case? Believe it or not, I did fly a plane before today. In fact, I graduated from flight school at the top of my class--”

Abel jumped with a startled yelp as Cain banged his fist into the side of the plane to interrupt him. He looked up, and wondered at how eyes so black could burn so hot. “Wake up, Abel! You graduated at the top of your class? Well so did I. But unfortunately for both of us, the remainder of our classes didn't defect and join the Nazis,” Cain said mockingly, motioning northward with his cigarette between two fingers.

Abel continued glaring for a few moments while he worked out exactly what Cain meant. Luckily Cain chose to elaborate. “The enemy doesn't give a fuck how good a pilot you are. They'll blow you to pieces all the same.”

Then Cain was in Abel's space again, digging a scolding finger into Abel's chest. “I'm not telling you what to do to be an asshole, Abel. Though if that's what you think, I don't really care. I'm telling you what to do, because when we're up there, and it's just you, and me, and Ty, and the darkness? My voice in your ear might be the only thing that keeps the three of us alive.”

And there was the war within himself again. Abel clenched a fist as he steeled himself against the flashbacks, of all the pointless arguments he'd ever had with his father, because his father had always won. And it was going to be just the same with Cain. Even if Cain was right some of the time. No room for compromise, no room for a differing opinion.

But then Cain said something Abel didn't expect, his voice suddenly soft, and quiet, and small... his dark eyes warm instead of burning hot. “You're gonna have to trust me.”

Abel looked right back up at him, cheeks burning red, hoping for once in his life he could have the last word, that thought eclipsing any other thought he might have had about Cain being so close. “Yeah, well, you have to trust me, too,” he said with a helpless shrug.

And he did get the last word, but only because a jeep rolled up to them at that moment and truly brought them down to Earth at last.

“You boys need a ride back to camp?” an older man with glasses said.

“Colonel Cook!” Cain called out in answer, almost as if to warn Abel that he was about to meet the commanding officer.

“This our new pilot?” the Colonel asked as he climbed out of the jeep.

“Yes, sir!” Abel answered for himself, and saluted. “First Lieutenant Ethan Abel, sir.”

The Colonel sharply returned his salute and reached out to shake his hand. “Good to meet you, son. I've heard a lot of good things about you from Colonel Adams.”

“Thank you, sir,” Abel replied efficiently, feeling a bit justified at last.

“Well, Cain, what do you think?” Cook asked as he turned to the other junior officer and folded his arms. “Is he lead plane material?”

“He's a good pilot, sir,” Cain answered, much to Abel's surprise. “Though he'll need a couple night missions under his belt before he's ready.”

“Well, of course,” Cook agreed with a smile, turning back to Abel. “'Good pilot' is quite a compliment coming from Cain, Lieutenant. I have high hopes for you.”

Abel wasn't quite sure what to say to that. “I –- I'll try not to disappoint, sir,” he stammered.

The Colonel walked back around the jeep. “Get in, I'll give you a lift,” he said as he climbed back in to the driver's seat.

Cain brushed past him, looking back and giving Abel a sharp look that told him exactly who he better not disappoint. Then he climbed onto the platform on the back of the jeep, leaving the seat next to Cook open for Abel.

“So what do you think of the _Reliant?_ ” the Colonel asked, talking loud so he could be heard over the wind and the engine of the jeep. “Anything need looking at before your mission tomorrow?”

“No sir, she's in tip-top shape,” Abel answered back. “Handles real well in the air. Can tell she's seen some heavy fighting, though.”

Cook nodded, looking somberly at Abel for just a moment before looking back at the road. “Indeed she has. Been with us since the group was stationed in Egypt. But take care of her, and she'll take care of you.”

“Oh, yes, sir!” Abel concurred, glancing back at Cain, who was clutching to the back of the jeep to keep from falling off.

“And make sure you take care of yourself, too. Get plenty of rest, Abel. Gotta get you on schedule for your first mission tomorrow night,” Cook reminded him as the jeep sped along towards the camp.

 

 

* * *

 

The sun was low in the sky, and the camp was all abuzz with excitement as everyone prepared for the night's mission. Abel scanned the mess hall for an empty seat as he carefully carried his tray, finally finding one at a table close to the door.

But it wasn't until he'd almost finished asking, “Excuse me, is this seat... taken...?” that it registered, that the two men sitting there were the men he'd seen fighting with Cain the day before. He could feel his muscles tense as the two Second Lieutenants looked up at him with indifferent eyes, like he had no more value than a gust of wind.

“Sure thing, Lieutenant,” the one with the mohawk said, shrugging noncommittally, and Abel knew they were only going to let him sit there because he out-ranked them.

“Well, nice to meet you,” he said with a polite smile. “I'm Ethan Abel. I just transferred here from the the 455th.”

“How do you do, Lieutenant? I'm Phillips, this is my navigator, Porter,” the blond across the table said, sounding incredibly bored.

“Hello,” Abel said to the burly blond beside him, who nodded as he stuffed his mouth with a glob of mashed potatoes.

“Wait a minute,” Phillips said slowly, as he suddenly remembered something. “ _You're_ the new pilot?”

“Um...” Abel's eyes went wide as he decided how to answer the very simple question. “Y-yes?”

Phillips leaned into the table, eyes wide with concern. _“Cain's_ your navigator?”

Meanwhile Porter looked over at Abel, quirking up an eyebrow as he sucked something out of his teeth with his tongue.

“Yes he is,” Abel sat flatly.

Phillips slowly shook his head, expression stoic as he leaned even further into the table. “Have you heard the rumors?” he said, only pretending to try and be discreet.

“No...” Abel answered. “I've only been here since yesterday.”

Phillips looked over his shoulder, then over his other one, before turning back to Abel, pausing dramatically before he started his story. “Not too long ago, in the middle of the night... I saw someone sneaking into Cain's tent.”

Abel frowned as his heart began to beat a bit faster. “You saw... _'som_ _eone'?_ Who?”

Phillips shook his head again. “It was nobody I knew. Nobody from the base. It was a strange _man._ He was dressed in all black from head to toe.”

Beside him, Porter cleared his throat so he could whisper. “We think it might have been a, uh, a uh... ahem...”

“ _Prostitute,”_ Phillips finished for him, in much the same manner that an old lady in a gossipy Sunday School class might do. Then he pursed his lips together, leaning back from the table and looking at Abel with knowing eyes.

Abel blinked a few times to get his thoughts together. “Well, isn't nighttime when the camp is the busiest? Doesn't seem like a great time to sneak someone in, if you're trying to hide something.”

“Oh, but see, that's the brilliance of it,” Phillips interjected. “I'll give Cain credit. If nothing else, he's smart. What better time to engage in your... illicit activities, than when everyone is distracted with a mission?”

“And that's not all,” Porter said with a mouth half full of spam. “Tell him about the... the... you know --”

“Well, you're his third pilot in as many months,” Phillips said on Porter's behalf. “They keep requesting transfers.” He looked over his shoulders again. “We think that maybe he's... _harassing_ his pilots.”

“Yeah, we think that's why no one wants to share a tent with him,” Porter added.

 _We think._ Abel just chuckled nervously to himself, and shook his head as he played with his food with his fork. “Thanks, but, I'd rather make up my own mind about Lieutenant Cain,” he said pointedly, reminding the two of them that his navigator also outranked them both.

Porter scoffed, his mouth half full of potato now. “Suit yourself, but I'd sleep with one eye open if I were you.”

Abel ate the rest of his meal in hurried silence.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

**Wednesday, May 24, 1944**

If Abel was sleeping with one eye open that night, or rather the next morning, it was only because he'd stayed up so late that he wasn't even tired anymore... adrenaline had taken over at some point, since his body apparently hadn't received the same orders that he had -- to change his sleep schedule in a matter of days. He lay there on his side, shutting his eyes tight. But the harder he tried to relax, the more awake he seemed to feel.

Suddenly Abel heard rustling from the left side of the tent, the sound of a sleeping bag being carefully shuffled. He opened one eye to see Cain silently stripping himself of his tank top, before laying back down on the cot in nothing but his dog tags from the waist up.

Abel closed his eyes again, and tried to put it out of his mind, told himself that Cain must just be too warm. It was May, after all, and the weather was starting to heat up. But then the rustling didn't stop, and so Abel opened his eye again.

Cain was laying there in the dim light of the tent with his eyes closed, slowly rubbing his hands up and down his own chest, which rose and fell with deep, calming breaths. Abel watched, as he ran exploring fingers over his neck, and around his nipples, and down to the sculpted muscles of his stomach. But it wasn't until Cain slid a hand under the sleeping bag where Abel couldn't see, that he realized what exactly Cain was doing.

Abel shut his eyes tight, holding his breath just to make sure he didn't make any noise. But it didn't matter, he could still see the images of Cain in his mind, and he definitely wasn't going to fall asleep now. Not with his pulse throbbing through his whole body, not with his cock hardening, straining against his boxer shorts.

He guiltily opened one eye again, his breathing silent but shallow as he watched Cain's face become wrecked with pleasure just a few feet away. Then Cain stopped, bringing his other hand up to his mouth and sensually sucking on his own fingers like they were covered in honey. Then Cain shifted to one side, and his other hand disappeared under the sleeping bag.

Abel silently cursed himself... knew it was wrong, knew that he should look away and give Cain some privacy. Even if he was cursing Cain too, for not having the decency to take care of such things, in the precise and efficient manner in which he seemed to do everything else. But no, for this, Cain was taking his time, enjoying it, making it last. And doing something with his spare hand that Abel couldn't help but wonder about.

“Uh!” Cain made a small, strangled grunt of a noise, his teeth baring as he shifted his head and buried half of his face in the pillow, continuing to work his hands where Abel couldn't see.

Abel had been taught that touching yourself in such a way was wrong, something that was supposed to be reserved for activities between a man and a woman. Which made Abel doubly hate himself for doing it, while he thought about doing it with another man. But the way that Cain did it... the way it made him look like he was finally at peace, the way it softened his features and made him look five years younger... Cain made it look beautiful. Abel couldn't help but want to be a part of it, be the one doing those things to Cain that made him beautiful, so he wouldn't have to do it himself.

It wasn't long after that, that Cain finished, seeming to brace himself against the intensity and the pleasure of it as he came, and Abel only remembered that he wasn't supposed to be watching, in the moment after Cain looked over, and met his eyes with a small gasp of panic.

Abel's throat was suddenly dry, trying to think of some excuse, some apology, but surprisingly, Cain didn't look angry. He just relaxed against the cot, gave Abel a shy, and sleepy, almost helpless smile. “Heh, enjoy the show?” he said with a quiet whisper.

“I -- um...” Abel was at a loss for words. His chest felt tight, but no tighter than the hardness that was threatening to show through his sleeping bag. His curiosity got the best of him since Cain seemed to be in a forgiving mood. “What were... what were you doing with your other hand?” he whispered back.

Cain snorted quietly, raising a hand up and making a motion with three fingers that Abel only partially understood. Then Cain motioned toward him, suggestively dragging his eyes down Abel's body as he propped himself up on his elbow. “Try it.”

“W-what? No, I can't --” Abel protested, curling into himself, feeling the heat rise in his face in the darkness.

“What, you got to watch me!” Cain pointed out playfully, almost mouthing the words, and then flashed Abel a brilliant smile.

“I...” Abel couldn't argue with that, and definitely couldn't argue with the fact that thinking about Cain watching him was making him even harder. He slowly complied, moving his hand around behind him.

“Ssst!” Cain hissed to get his attention, motioning for Abel to put his fingers in his mouth as Cain had done.

Abel sucked on his own fingers, wincing slightly at the taste, before reaching back again and into his shorts, reticent and unsure.

Cain stuck out a middle finger at him, and Abel frowned for a moment at the gesture, before he realized that Cain was just giving him instructions. Abel slowly pushed his middle finger in, moving it in circles the way that Cain was doing, so it was almost like Cain was doing it to him, making him feel these things from three feet away. Cain pushed his finger forward, meeting invisible resistance in the air, telling Abel to go deeper, _deeper,_ like he was conducting some sort of silent, profane symphony with his hand.

Then Cain showed him a second finger, so Abel added one too, feeling himself stretch in a way that was so good he never wanted it to stop. Deeper, deeper, Cain instructed him, and then finally curled his fingers just so --

“Oh!” Abel said, just a little too loudly in the silent dark, as he lightly brushed against some part of himself that he could barely reach, that made something like a lightning storm flash inside of his stomach, his cock painfully hard now against his belly, Cain's shushing him across the way only barely registering in his mind.

When he finally opened his eyes again, Cain had a very satisfied smile on his face, as he watched Abel react to the sudden rush of pleasure, his eyes and his mouth stretched open in surprise. He motioned for Abel to spread his fingers apart.

“Uh!” Abel made a strangled noise of his own as he did it, and pressed a little harder against that place inside himself, his skin burning from the sensation and the noise that he'd made and Cain's eyes soaking in every move that he made.

Cain continued to direct him, telling Abel to add a third finger, and so Abel mirrored his movements, honestly wishing that Cain would come across the small space and do it to him directly but not knowing how one asked for such a thing. Then Cain reached down to his own crotch under the sleeping bag, pushing down on it. Abel wasn't sure if Cain was just uncomfortably hard again, or if he was instructing Abel to touch himself, but he complied either way... quickly finding release from it, after all of the built up pressure of watching Cain, and then watching Cain watch him, he came with a jerk and a shudder, his whole skin tingling with sensory overload, a scream fighting to escape from his vocal chords.

Abel looked at Cain lazily resting his head on his pillow as he came down from it, breathing heavy, eyes wide with trying to process what he'd just experienced. He collapsed onto his own pillow too, gazing into Cain's eyes across the way and wondering just how complicated they had made things between them.

Cain just smiled at him once more, a wicked grin that reveled in the secret they had shared in the dark. “Get some sleep, sweetheart,” he whispered, and then closed his eyes to do the same.

And for once, Abel found himself all too happy to comply.

 


	4. Chapter 4

 

“Next?”

 

The intelligence officer's voice echoed across the room, over the mumbles of voices and clinking of ceramic mugs. Cain gestured with a motion of his head as he walked toward the available interrogation table, glaring back at Abel and pulling up a chair.

Abel let out a defeated sigh as he followed suit, with their gunner Pierce not far behind, both with rations of rye whiskey in hand, thick boots shuffling across the floor.

The room was over-crowded, just like Abel's thoughts, full of airmen returning from the night's mission, sitting down with intelligence officers to report what they'd experienced, so command could better prepare for future missions. The interrogators always had a litany of questions: _Was the target well marked? Did you hit the target? Did you see any planes go down? Were there any problems with the aircraft?_

Abel took a sip of his whiskey, hands shaking with adrenaline as he tried to collect his thoughts. He could barely hear the questions, or his own answers for that matter, with the _Reliant's_ engines still roaring in his ears, and Cain's yelling besides.

 

* * *

 

It started as soon as Abel's feet hit the ground...

“What the fuck is wrong with you, Abel?” Cain shouted. “I had to tell you to get back in formation five times tonight!”

Abel had instantly had enough. He crossed his arms and tightly shook his head, refusing to meet Cain's gaze as the other man lashed out at him.

“How hard is this to understand: If you're out of formation, then you have one gunner protecting your ship,” Cain barked, one finger stabbing at the air as if aiming for Abel's throat. “If you're in formation, you have every gunner in the fleet. This is not a difficult concept--”

“Cain, I never got more than ten feet higher than the rest of the group!” Abel shouted back finally, throwing up exasperated hands.

“Well, you can do better than that,” Cain snarled. “You _have_ to do better than that!”

“You know what, Cain?” Abel finally looked over at him, taking a daring step closer to the taller man. “If my flying isn't good enough for you... maybe you should just fly the damn plane yourself.”

Cain gave Abel a look as hard as stone and cold as ice. “You know I can't do that,” he said, voice barely more than a quiet growl.

“Yeah, I know,” Abel sneered. “And I think you're jealous.”

For a moment, Cain stood speechless with disbelief, jaw shifting to the side as he fought with Abel's words. He made a substantial threat with little more than a flare of his nostrils and a twitch of his eyelid, but Abel stood his ground. “... _What_ did you say?” Cain said through gritted teeth.

“You heard me,” Abel answered, trying to keep his voice steady through the adrenaline pulsing in his veins. “You're jealous. Somehow, you washed out of being a pilot, and so now you're jealous of those of us that are still allowed in a cockpit,” he said, hands balling into fists at his side.

Cain took a step closer, answering Abel's accusation with a growl. “You don't know what the _fuck_ you're talking about--”

“Lieutenants!” Pierce finally interrupted. “Come on, we have interrogation to get to.”

 

* * *

 

“...Lieutenant?”

It took a moment for the voice to register in Abel's mind. He looked up at the intelligence officer, suddenly sure he had been asked a question. “Oh, I'm sorry, what?”

“Were there any problems with the aircraft?” the interrogator repeated.

“Oh, uh... no,” Abel muttered, looking into his mug while he rethought his answer. “No,” he repeated.

The intelligence officer scribbled down the answer and moved on to the next question. “How would you describe the flak?”

Abel forced himself to focus on his memories of the bombing run, everything dark and cold and too loud, the only things visible in the black the brightly burning fires near the target, and blinding flashes of anti-aircraft artillery. “Heavy--”

“--Moderate,” Cain and Pierce said in unison.

Abel's eyes shot up, darting back and forth between his two crewmates and the interrogation officer, all of whom looked annoyed or tired, it was hard to tell which. He gripped his mug until his knuckles were white, mouth tightening to hide his shock. What could Cain and Pierce have gone through, that made _this_ seem like just a run-of-the-mill night?

“All right then... I guess it was moderate,” he conceded, voice wavering between pity and pride.

Abel stayed quiet after that, letting the two more experienced crewmen answer most of the questions, as he let his mind wander, his eyes staring into his mostly empty mug.

 

 

When they were finally dismissed, Abel rushed out of the room, determined not to give Cain the opportunity to lay into him again. Hands burrowed in the pockets of his flight suit, he counted ten hurried steps from the front door before Pierce called out, “Lieutenant Abel!”

Abel turned on his heel, seeing the Sergeant’s silhouette in the glaring light of the door. “A word?” Pierce asked, and gestured to a spot around the corner.

 

Pierce leaned against the side of the building, tall and intimidating with a patch over one eye, but folding his arms inward, as if he were making himself smaller for Abel's benefit.  
“Listen. There's some things that you oughta know,” Pierce began. “I would have told you earlier, but there wasn't really a good time.”

Abel folded his arms too, straightening his back as he listened. _Tiberius Pierce, but you can just call me Ty,_ was all the introduction Abel had gotten to his gunner, as they sat down for the mission briefing... hours or maybe a lifetime ago.

Pierce sighed heavily. “Cain _has_ flown the _Reliant_ himself,” he said, voice raw, his eye not quite meeting Abel's.

Abel blinked, eyebrows tightening as he struggled with which question to ask first. “Why -– when?”

“It was about six months ago,” Pierce answered. “We were bombing an oil refinery in Austria. Moosbierbaum. Real heavy flak, the worst we've ever seen. That's the night I lost my eye,” he explained, pointing to the black patch on the left side of his face.

Pierce's one good eye drifted, unfocused and far away. “And we lost our pilot.” He paused for a moment, regretfully shaking his head. “Shell busted up the windshield and got him. The plane started to dip... Cain had to use the emergency controls to get us home...”

Abel pressed his hand over his mouth, suddenly remembering the faint scent of blood that he'd smelled while inspecting the cockpit earlier in the day. So faint, he'd almost thought he'd imagined it.

“While we listened... over the intercom...” Pierce said, his voice cracking. “To Keeler die.”

The blood ran out of Abel's cheeks, out of his whole body. He felt heavy and weak, as if he were the one that were bleeding out.

“Now... I've never told a soul this,” Pierce said with an unspoken warning in his gaze. “And I probably shouldn't be telling you now. But... if you and Lieutenant Cain can't work out your differences, then I don't know what we're gonna do. So, I figure you oughta know. So you can try to understand, why Cain is the way he is.”

“All right,” Abel said, nodding. “I'm listening.”

Pierce looked around to make sure no one was listening, taking extra time to see through his right eye on his left side. Then he looked back at Abel, his voice barely more than a whisper. “Cain and Keeler... they loved each other. They said it over the intercom that night, when they thought I wasn't listening.”

Abel kept his face carefully blank, as he weaved Pierce's words together with everything he already knew, or thought he knew about Cain.

“Now, I don't know what kind of love it was,” Pierce admitted. “Whether it was just 'brotherly' love, or something else,” he said, with gruff dismissal of the 'something else'. “And quite frankly I don't want to know, it's none of my business,” he said quickly. “But... listening to them say goodbye to each other that night? Well... _I'm_ a changed man.”

Pierce shifted uncomfortably against the wall. “Cain had to navigate, fly the plane, and try to comfort Keeler in his dying hours --” Pierce solemnly nodded his head as Abel reacted, taken aback. “Yes, _hours_ , all at the same time.”

Abel tried to swallow, his mouth suddenly too dry, wishing he had snuck another mug of whiskey out of the interrogation room.

“And Cain hasn't been the same since then,” Pierce explained. “Now that doesn't excuse his behavior. He's still an ass. And I don't know what it's gonna take for him to give you a break,” he shrugged. “But in the meantime... maybe you can find a way to give him one. Because Abel... I think he's just scared. He's scared just like the rest of us. He just has a peculiar way of showing it.”

 

* * *

 

Cain sat alone, hunched over on one of the makeshift benches encircling the fire. Orange flames danced in his dark eyes, as Abel cautiously approached him, stepping into the ring of light and skin-drying heat.

Abel felt another twinge of regret squeeze his heart, as he watched Cain look downcast into the flames, glowing cigarette dangling precariously in his hand. He knew there was nothing he could say to make it better, so he just sat beside the other man in silence, close enough to be friendly, but not close enough to be anything else.

Cain looked over at him, tolerating his presence but nothing more. He looked back down to the ground, taking in a drag of smoke, and blowing it out of his nostrils like a dragon.

Some of the other airmen were singing a raucous drunken song, swaying and laughing as they tried to remember the words. Abel smiled to himself, shielding a cigarette against the unruly night wind as he got it lit.

Abel had barely begun to enjoy the first hit, when he felt a tap on his shoulder. He looked over to where Cain held a glass bottle in his hand. “Hey, sweetheart,” he said, and Abel imagined there was an apology in between Cain's words. “Don't let me do anything stupid. Okay?”

Abel quirked up an eyebrow, unsure why a drunk Cain would need a chaperone, and wondering whether he was even qualified for such a task. He barely nodded in answer, but that was all the response that Cain apparently required, tipping his head back and downing a good portion of the bottle in one go.

He then held the bottle out for Abel, who took it reluctantly, drinking a small swig of it to test the contents. He only barely stopped himself from coughing, noting to himself that the stuff was even more poisonous than Vicks's moonshine. “Oh geez,” he said, as he scrunched up his face. “What is this stuff?”

“Stuff that gets you drunk,” Cain answered with a small chuckle, still staring at the fire.

“Heh, right,” Abel laughed, trying to fan the flames of Cain's lifting mood by giving him a bright smile.  
Cain turned and looked at him, managing to smile back as he watched Abel brave another big gulp of the mystery booze. Abel shook his head as he knocked it back, and grinned proudly at the other man. Cain rubbed his lips together, doing a terrible job of hiding the fact he was looking Abel up and down, a curious smirk on his face, fire dancing in his eyes. And with the way they looked at each other, Abel started to believe they would eventually be all right.

 

* * *

 

  
“Oh! Watch it now,” Abel said as Cain tripped, holding on to Abel for dear life.

“I got –- I got it...” Cain slurred, wincing as he tried to correct his balance but ended up only swaying the two of them back and forth.

“Heh, _clearly_ you don't,” Abel teased. “Come on, I got you, we're almost there.” He held Cain up with an arm around his middle, glad that at least one of them could still stand on two feet. Cain was warm, but heavy, with an arm around Abel's shoulders, smelling like grease and sweat and booze and several different kinds of smoke.

“All right, easy does it...” Abel said, opening the tent flap and guiding Cain inside with his hand. “...Shhhit!” He hardly managed to get in the tent himself to catch Cain, just before he collapsed like a marionette whose strings had just been cut. “Careful!” he pleaded, trying to guide Cain to his cot, and instead tripping on Cain's boot and losing his footing. Both of them collapsed onto the bed, Abel pinned against the hard metal frame by Cain's weight.

Cain only laughed hysterically, as Abel attempted to untangle and rearrange them. He managed to get them both upright, with Cain leaning his head on Abel's shoulder. Abel let out a sigh of relief, rubbing Cain's back and resisting the temptation to press his cheek to Cain's soft, unruly hair.

He couldn't help but worry about Cain, wondering if this was how he always chose to celebrate coming back in one piece... or if something Abel said had triggered that night's bout... maybe something that reminded Cain of Keeler. His forehead wrinkled as Cain leaned into him even more, pressing his nose into Abel's shoulder.

“Hey...” Abel whispered, rubbing Cain's back a little more vigorously to get his attention. “I'm sorry... okay?”

Cain sat up to look at him, eyes fighting to focus.

“I'm sorry,” Abel repeated. “About earlier--”

“You're pretty,” Cain blurted out, stopping Abel dead in his tracks.

Abel raised two amused eyebrows, smiling at Cain and holding his breath to keep from laughing at him. He shook his head in delighted disbelief. “I'm _pretty?”_ he repeated.

“Mm-hm.” Cain nodded, the movement exaggerated and forced in his inebriated state.

“Don't you mean... handsome, or good-lookin', or...?”

“Nope. Pretty. You're pretty,” Cain declared with another delicate nod of his head.

“Oh, well in that case,” Abel couldn't stop himself from smiling, wondering if it was just the booze that made him lean closer to Cain's face. “You're pretty, too.”

Cain gave him a look that said he didn't believe that. So Abel put his hand under Cain's chin, just to help Cain look him straight in the eye and see he was sincere. “You're pretty when you _smile_ ,” Abel offered.

There was a split second where Cain looked entirely too sober, right before he rushed forward and pressed two desperate lips to Abel's lips... just a hint of tongue swiping somewhere in the middle, warm and so full of pent up desire that Abel could hardly breathe. His eyes shot open wide, stunned for a few seconds, before he finally gave in to it. He tried to kiss Cain back as best he could while gasping for air, something like lightning surging through his very core, making him shudder.

Cain slid his fingers into Abel's hair, pulling them closer together, and holding Abel still with his hands and a look in his eye. He tilted his head to the side, sliding his lips over each of Abel's lips a few times before finally settling on the bottom one, sucking and just barely nibbling until the sensation drew out a moan.

Abel broke the kiss, nuzzling Cain's cheek as he tried to catch his breath, shutting his eyes tight just to accommodate his other senses -- skin on fire, heart pounding in his ears, cock straining against the too many layers of his flight uniform.

Cain brought his arms around Abel's middle, eagerly hoisting him into his lap, Abel's legs wrapping around his waist. Abel held onto him by the dog tags as Cain leaned up to kiss him again, and the zipper on the front of Abel's flight suit slowly started coming undone. Abel gasped, everything becoming too real and too much, but then Cain's mouth was hot on his jaw, distracting him. Abel closed his eyes, surrendering to it, only letting out a tiny whimper as Cain pushed the suit away, and ran his tongue at the base of Abel's neck, then sucked at the sensitive skin. His whole body tingled all the way to the fingertips, even before Cain ran his hands over Abel's chest through his t-shirt... even before Cain reached down and slid one palm over the front of Abel's boxers, and squeezed his ass with the other.

“Cain!” Abel let out a helpless moan. Cain clapped a hand over Abel's mouth, shushing him through a boyish, drunken smirk.

And with that, Abel suddenly came back to his senses. He had no idea what he was doing, what Cain expected him to do. For a moment, he seriously considered asking Cain for some sort of itinerary, or road map of the night's planned activities, carefully notated with anything that might be considered, “something stupid.”

“Mm -- wait,” he pulled Cain's hands away from his face and his crotch. “We shouldn't.” Cain's eyes widened with just a smidgeon of hurt.

“I promised –- I promised you,” Abel reminded him.

Cain turned his head slightly to the side. “You... think _this_ would be stupid?”

“N-no...” Abel stammered. “But... I don't know how you would feel about it. If you were sober.”

Frowning pensively, Cain was silent for a few moments, eyes drifting between Abel's face and nowhere at all. “I'm fairly certain,” he finally said, “that sober me, didn't _intend_ to cheat drunk me out of a good time,” he argued with a flirtatious smile.

Abel chewed on his lip, trying to mentally will his erection away so he could just _think_. “Still... perhaps it would be better... if we--” he stopped, and took in a deep, shaky breath. “If we didn't let things get too heavy tonight.”

Cain scrunched his mouth to one side in disappointment, exhaling in a huff as he reluctantly zipped Abel's flight suit back up.

Abel leaned down, placing a soft, forgiving kiss on his lips, that Cain only barely returned. He shifted, suddenly stiff and not sure he was welcome anymore on Cain's lap. “Do you... want me to get off your bed now?” he asked.

Cain shook his head, leaning back and pulling Abel with him to the head of the bed, Abel tucked under his arm with his head resting on Cain's shoulder. He just watched for a little while, as Cain stared up at the ceiling of the tent. Drunken songs echoed from the other side of camp, cutting through the eery oppressive silence that meant there were still a few hours before dawn.

“You know,” Abel said finally, whispering into Cain's ear. “It occurs to me, I don't even know your name. Everybody just calls you Cain.”

“That's what I want them to call me,” Cain answered, sounding sleepy and far away.

“You... don't want me to call you by your first name?” Abel asked.

“Nope.”

“Not even... not even if we're...” Abel stopped there, certain it was too soon to mention sex again just yet.

“Nope, just call me Cain.”

“Oh,” Abel whispered, a bit disappointed. “Well... you can call me Ethan. When were... alone. Together.”

Cain lazily shifted over to face him, pressing his face to Abel's so they were forehead to forehead and nose to nose. “Okay, Ethan,” he said with a quiet smile.

Cain pulled Abel to him, pressing his head against his chest, tangling their legs together and resting his chin in Abel's hair.

“But seriously,” Cain said abruptly, a few minutes later, voice ringing in his ribcage beneath Abel's ear. “You need to stay in formation. You have to start flying like an ace if we're gonna be in the lead plane together.”

Abel rolled his eyes, exhaling a growl like he was breathing smoke. He wound back his fist and punched Cain right in the arm with a loud smack.

“Ow!” Cain protested, reaching over Abel's head to rub at his bicep. It was a small consolation for Cain sneaking in the last word several hours later.

“ _Goodnight_ , Cain,” Abel said through gritted teeth, but snuggled himself up to Cain's chest all the same.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cain, why u cockblock yourself, bro???  
> Thanks very much to ASC for betaing the first half of this chapter for me, since I was a bit worried it wasn't working. I tried my best to apply her coaching to the second half of the chapter on my own since I was in a hurry to post it.


	5. Chapter 5

“Hnn! What!” Cain woke up suddenly in the middle of the night, to a hand lightly shaking his shoulder.

“It's okay. It's just me,” Abel whispered, clasping his hands against his chest, careful not to touch Cain again, as if he were afraid he were no longer welcome.

Cain shut his eyes and opened them again, trying to remember why Abel was in his bed... and more importantly, why he'd woken him up. “What happened?”

“You were talking in your sleep,” Abel said. “It woke me up.”

“Oh...” Cain whispered, masking his alarm by covering his face, trying to think quickly through his pounding hangover. “What wass I ssaying?!”

“Nothing I could understand,” Abel answered. “It just sounded like gibberish.”

“Huh...” Cain grunted dismissively. “Fuck, my head hurts...” he groaned, shifting to bury his face into Abel's chest. He frowned as he realized he was still wearing all of his clothes, even his boots. “What happened?” he asked again.

“I told you. You were talking in your sleep--”

“No, I meant before that,” Cain rasped.

“Oh... you don't remember,” Abel said coldly.

That told Cain he had to make a quick deduction. They were both fully dressed, but his neck was sore as if someone had been pulling him along by his dog tags.

“Oh!” Cain felt his face get several degrees warmer as he started to remember, just flashes of memory, intense and incredibly hot. He lay there for a few more moments, eyes open wide, letting out a slow, cooling breath.

Finally he shifted up, gazing into Abel's eyes as he ran fingers through his hair. Abel looked confused, but didn't pull away, even when Cain leaned in and put a feather-light kiss on his lips. “Was it something like that?” he murmured.

Abel slowly shook his head. “No.”

“No?” Cain's eyebrows shot up, afraid that he'd miscalculated.

“No, it was more like this,” Abel answered, and pulled Cain in, kissing him deep, like his very life depended on it.

At this point, Cain began to remember that Abel wasn't all that great of a kisser. Though he made up for it with enthusiasm, the boy definitely needed some practice. Cain pulled Abel closer to show him how it was done, but Abel suddenly pulled away and scrunched up his face. “Ugh, your breath smells _terrible,”_ Abel whispered, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand.

Cain scowled, sighing in frustration as he recalled why things had stopped before. He made a silent promise never to touch booze again, reburied his face in Abel's chest, and kicked off his boots.

 

* * *

 

 

He finished lunch just as dusk fell on the airfield, the last of the bombers still jetting down the runway, engines revving like a dragon's roar. As per his custom, Cain lit up a cigarette as he walked out of the mess tent, using the moment of stillness to listen hard for anything unusual, to watch for any movement out of the corners of his eye.

Everything seemed normal, so he started the short walk back to his tent, boots crunching on the makeshift gravel road that wound through the vineyard. Now that he'd had something to eat, and gotten over his hangover, he could pick things up where he'd left off with his new pilot. They had the night off, after all, and nothing better to do... and since he was sober and had fairly recently brushed his teeth, hopefully Abel would be out of excuses.

A whistle from the dark shadows of the vines stopped Cain dead in his tracks, just a few yards away from the tent. The sound very nearly imitated a bird call, but Cain knew better. He waited until he heard the sound again, before rushing double time toward the tent.

 _The fucker has impeccable timing,_ Cain thought to himself, letting out a frustrated sigh.

 

Abel was curled up on his cot with a book, one of the Armed Services Editions that was longer than it was tall. He glanced at Cain and went back to reading, but a nice, pink blush appeared on his cheeks. “Oh, hiya Cain,” he said quietly.

“H'lo,” Cain replied, as he slumped down onto his own bunk. He needed to very quickly come up with a way to get Abel out of the tent. “What're you reading?”

“Oh, uh... The War of the Worlds,” Abel answered, holding up the small red, blue and yellow paperback. “It's one of my favorites.”

Cain squinted one eye as the title jogged his memory. “Yeah that's uh... that's the radio program that scared all of those people, a few years ago.”

“Yep, that's the one,” Abel giggled. “Did it scare you?”

Cain snorted, and made an unimpressed face. “Pfft, no...” he lied, looking down at the dirt and then back up at Abel. “...Did it scare you?”

“Oh, no, I'd read it before. But the program was a lot different from the novel.” Abel looked down at the book again, studying it from the top. “I'm about... half way through. I can tear the book in half and share it with you if you want--”

“Heh... that's okay,” Cain said quickly, as a shiver ran down his spine. “I'm not... really into all that extra-terrestrial stuff.”

“Why not?” Abel asked with a tilt of his head.

Cain gave him a nonchalant shrug. “Seems pretty useless to imagine fighting with Martians, as long as we're still fighting with each other...”

“Hmm... true...” Abel said thoughtfully, playing with his very kissable bottom lip with one finger. “That's definitely to the Martians' advantage isn't it--” He looked over and caught Cain gaping at him.

“Heh, you make it sound like they're real!” Cain laughed, peeling himself off the bed and walking over to Abel.

The pilot looked up at him, expression quickly melting from worry to that bright smile of his, the smile that knew too much. “What?” Abel asked playfully as he closed the book and set it aside.

Cain reached out, pulling Abel off the bed when he put his hand in Cain's. He chewed on his lip, looking back and forth between Abel's big eyes and his mouth, and stealing a glance at the entrance of the tent to make sure it was fully closed.

“Cain?”

He tangled his fingers in Abel's soft brown hair, and shoved their mouths together while he wrapped an arm around his waist. Abel hardly made any protest at all, leaning in and tilting his head back to give Cain better access.

Cain pushed Abel's lips apart with his tongue, exploring with it as he slid both hands down Abel's back. He pulled him forward by the rear, pressing their groins together, and Abel moaned quietly into his mouth. He repeated the movement, pressing up against Abel to feel the sensation again, to hear Abel make that sound again. He gave Abel an encouraging growl as they kissed, and Abel wrapped his arms around him, their lips just barely touching as Abel moved into him over and over. Cain watched Abel ravenously, watched the color rise in his cheeks, and made more encouraging sounds as he let Abel rut up against him. Cain's mind was racing, trying to think of a way to resolve his dilemma, wanting Abel as close as possible but needing him gone. He kissed him a little harder, silently promising Abel he wasn't just seducing him for some devious scheme.

Abel broke away panting, and snatched at the collar of Cain's shirt, pulling at buttons as he nuzzled Cain's nose. He grabbed Abel's hands and held them against his chest, so they could both feel Cain's heartbeat. Pressing falsely-reticent lips together, he slowly shook his head.

Abel's eyebrows stitched together. “No?” he whispered.

“Not here,” Cain whispered, and brushed reassuring thumbs over Abel's fingers. He flashed a boastful smile. _“You'll make too much noise...”_

“Oh!” Abel grinned, biting his lip and blushing profusely. “Well... is there somewhere we could go?” he whispered as he twisted his fingers into Cain's shirt.

Cain frowned, pretending to think hard about it, even though he already had a plan. “There... might be a place.”

“Where?!”

Cain let his eyes wander, reluctant to speak, as he was still working out the details. He swallowed, counting the five heartbeats it took to convince himself the plan wouldn't blow up in his face. “There's a plane, out in the airfield. It doesn't have a name, but the number on the tail is seventeen.”

“Seventeen,” Abel repeated, breathless and wanting.

“Yeah. It's been refitted for cargo. Go there... and wait for me,” Cain said. Abel gave him a worried look, so he added, “It will be less suspicious if we go separately.”

“Right,” Abel said, nodding nervously as he began to walk away.

Cain snatched the crook of his arm and pulled him back. “And _don't_ touch anything,” he growled.

Abel nodded again. “All right. Seventeen. I'll be there,” he said, walking backwards out of the tent, and giving Cain one last shy, but intoxicating smile.

 

He stood there watching the entrance to the tent for a few moments, breathing a sigh of relief, as he calculated the time until Abel would be out of sight. Then he went over to his foot locker, digging around until he found a flashlight. He checked to make sure that it worked, temporarily blinding himself in the process, and creeped out of the tent, checking to make sure no one was looking. He walked over to the place where he'd heard the bird call, and very casually turned the flashlight on and off again three times. Then he very casually walked back inside.

He held his breath as he waited for his guest to enter, already feeling his anger boil over before the small, skinny, dark-haired man appeared in the dim light. He strode over to him, grabbing Deimos by the collar of his black shirt and baring his teeth.

“ _Hey. Zasranets_ ,” he hissed. “Somebody saw you the last time you were here. You need to be more fucking careful.”

The shorter man didn't move, didn’t say anything, just leered up at Cain with frighteningly dead eyes... eyes like ghosts that could look right through you.

“You have no idea what kind of rumors people are spreading about m--” Cain halted as he felt the knife prick his skin, through the thin material of his shirt and into the flesh over his ribs. He looked down at the knife, wondering how Deimos could have gotten it out without him hearing it... and then back up at Deimos, sneering as he pushed the smaller man away with a dismissive flick of his hands.

Deimos still didn't speak, just continued his killer glare, twirling the knife to hide the blade before it disappeared back into his sleeve.

“Whatever, let's get this over with. I got somewhere to be,” Cain grumbled, going over to his footlocker and trading the flashlight for a carefully folded map. As usual, Deimos made himself at home by sitting on Cain's cot, so Cain sat next to him, still eyeing the little fucker warily as he opened the map.

“What do you hear?” Deimos asked, his voice raspy and scratchy as it always was.

Cain swallowed and pointed to a place on the map. “Rome,” he began, “is all but fallen. As of our briefing last night, they'd broken the lines at Monte Cassino, here, and were making their way to the main city. The Germans are starting to retreat. It's a matter of days before Rome is under Allied control.”

Deimos nodded tightly. “What else?”

“We have turned our attention...” Cain said as he flipped the map to a different section. “To here. Northern France. A place called Normandy. That's where the bombers are flying tonight.”

Deimos's grey eyes flitted between Cain and the map. “Why there?” he rasped, though they both knew the answer. “They are going to establish second front?!”

Cain tilted his head noncommittally, as he calculated what to say. Hearing Deimos's broken English always made Cain hyper-aware of the pronunciation of his American accent. “I... don't speculate on such things. But it _does look_ like they've finally pulled their heads out of their asses.”

“Is about time,” Deimos spat, hands balling into fists at his sides. “Time bought for them with Soviet blood!”

“Quiet,” Cain warned him, still looking down at the map. They had to have these conversations in English, so as to not attract attention. But a lot of good it would do them, if Deimos kept ranting about 'Soviet blood.'

 _“Nyet._ I will not,” Deimos said with a disgusted scowl. “It is _atrocity_. They've done it on purpose. They want Soviets and Nazis to destroy each other, so they don't interfere--”

“ _Zatknis_!” Cain hissed, glaring at the other man. “I understand, brother, but this is neither the time nor the place.”

Deimos sat a little taller, closing his eyes as he straightened his clothes again. The son of a high-ranking general, he was expected to climb swiftly through the ranks of Russian intelligence. Deimos obviously thought so too; it showed in the way he carried himself, the way he pompously tilted his head and pursed his lips when he didn't get his way. “You're right. I am sorry,” he said coldly. “What else?”

“That's it for now.”

“Well then... when can you come?” Deimos asked as he crossed his arms.

Cain looked sideways toward the entrance to the tent, then back at his guest. “Saturday. Do you have coordinates?” he whispered.

Deimos nodded. “You are there before. Forty-one, twenty-eight.”

Cain nodded in understanding, not even needing to look at the map to know where they were sending him. “I'll be there in the afternoon.”

“Did you get everything?”

“Yes,” Cain nodded. “I got everything you asked for. E-except for the ammunition.” The other man scowled at him, and Cain threw up his hands in mock defeat. “Sorry, okay? We just don't have a lot of that lying around here. At least not the kind you need.”

“...Fine,” Deimos grunted, standing and turning up his nose in that pretentious way of his, trying to look down on him, even though Cain was a head taller. Cain stood up to remind him of this fact just because he could. “I let them know to expect you.”

“That's great, now if you'll excuse me, I really do have to get going,” Cain insisted. “Allow me to see you out.” He gave Deimos a small, sarcastic bow, to which the skinny man just rolled his eyes. Cain quickly ducked out of the tent to check for bystanders, before waving Deimos on. He turned around, only to see that his guest had already disappeared into the night.

Cain stepped back into the tent, going over to the basin of water to brush his teeth one last time.

 

* * *

 

 

It didn't matter, Abel told himself. Didn't matter if the rumors about Cain were true, though he was sure that they weren't. It didn't matter if there had been others in the past, because this was the present, and Cain belonged to him now, for the night at least.

It didn't matter, because he had seen enough to know, that he and Cain shared something... something dark they buried deep within themselves until it became combustible like oil. Who was to say that he was really all that different from Cain? Why should he judge Cain just because he had the courage to play with fire?

But there was something about the look on Cain's face, as Abel shyly took the condoms from his pocket and held them out... the way Cain agreed to use them, but didn't take them until Abel nudged his hand closer, that made Abel wonder.

And there was something about the way that Cain watched him, as Abel lowered himself down... the soft, reassuring things Cain whispered to him between straining sighs... the way he let his eyes wander over Abel's body, soaking in the sight like he were afraid Abel weren't real... the way he tried to push himself up so he could reach Abel's mouth to kiss, that made him wonder too.

And there was something about the helpless, slightly impressed, slightly surprised smile on his face as Abel came... the way he pulled Abel down to him and held him to his chest and moved into him from underneath... the way he breathed “Ethan!” into his ear as he followed him over the edge... the way he held Abel for a long time afterwards, breathless and stupefied and dazed... that made Abel feel like they were the only two people in the world.

 

Abel finally rolled over, snuggling up to Cain's side on the nest of army-issue blankets they'd made in the belly of the plane, humming with delicious, throbbing ache where Cain's teeth and fingers had been.

Cain watched him, eyes still roaming over Abel's glistening skin, lips parted like he had something to say, but couldn't find words. Abel couldn't help but smile, thinking of some way to say that he knew, without actually saying he knew.

“You know...” he said finally. “I never really imagined that my first time would be like _this.”_

Cain snorted, and occupied himself with wiping his stomach off with his undershirt.

“I mean, I at least thought I would be in a _bed,”_ Abel laughed.

“Hmph, well!” Cain teased. “Sorry I couldn't get us better accommodations, _princess._ Unfortunately, the war's all booked up.”

Abel scooted a little closer, burying his nose in raven hair. “I wasn't complaining,” he murmured.

“Uh-huh,” Cain chuckled, wrapping his arm around Abel and pulling him closer.

He lay there on Cain's shoulder, surveying the assortment of crates and boxes secured to the floor of the plane. But Cain had already made it clear that topic wasn't open for discussion. Nor was the strange hole in Cain's shirt, or the tiny red prick in the skin over his ribs. Abel worried he had gotten in another fight, but Cain refused to talk about it. So they'd have to talk about something else. “Do you really think that aliens aren't real?”

Cain turned his head to frown at him. “Well,” he said with a thoughtful sigh. “I suppose it _is_ likely that life exists on other planets, but... I don't see much use in trying to imagine what they're like.”

“Why not?” Abel prodded, rolling over onto his stomach to see Cain's face better.

“Well... because no matter what we imagine...” and Abel could swear he felt Cain shudder. “What they look like, what they're capable of, what kind of weapons they have, we'll undoubtedly be wrong. Just seems like a waste of time.”

“I don't think the point is to try and guess what they'll actually be like,” Abel pointed out. “I think the point is just... for fun. For entertainment. It's fun to think about.”

“It's fun to think about our whole civilization being destroyed?!”

Abel pursed his lips. “Well, no... all right, maybe fun isn't the best word. Entertainment doesn't have to be _fun_ , I guess.”

“Yeah, well...” Cain gave him a playful smile, running a finger over Abel's arm. _“I_ don't find it very entertaining.”

“What _do_ you find entertaining, then?” Abel asked, moving closer and resting his chin on his hands on top of Cain's chest.

“Hmm...” Cain pondered as he ran a lazy hand over Abel's back. “Music? Opera?”

“Opera? ...Really?!”

“Well you see,” Cain explained. “My mom, is a very gifted pianist. And one of her gigs she had when I was growing up, was accompanying for an opera company in New York. So, I was practically raised at the opera house.”

“Oh, wow,” Abel said.

Cain snickered, looking up towards the roof of the plane, but seeming like he was looking much further away than that. “You know it's funny. Sometimes the women from the village come out here during the day, and tend to the vineyard. And some of them will sing opera while they're doing it. So I'm always writing my mom, like, 'I heard some Verdi today. I heard some Mozart today.'”

“It's a little bit like being home, huh?” Abel said, completely empathizing with the feeling.

“Hmm, yeah... a little bit...” Cain said quietly. “I actually spent so much time there, that I started picking up on some of the languages the operas were in? So, I can understand a little Italian, and a little German.”

“ _Italian_ and _German,”_ Abel repeated incredulously.

“Yeah. And some French, yeah.”

“Well, that's highly convenient, isn't it? Have you ever thought about being a spy?” Abel joked, and Cain broke out into a laugh that sounded strangely like a cough. “I'm just kidding,” Abel said softly, moving closer to nuzzle Cain's nose. “You would make a _terrible_ spy.”

Cain looked entirely hurt. “W-why do you say that?!”

Abel flashed him a knowing smile, trying to think of how to word his answer. But then his heart leapt in his chest as he remembered where he was, stark naked in the middle of an airfield with a fellow _male_ officer. Conduct unbecoming didn't even begin to cover it. “Hey, maybe we should get back. Before somebody notices we're gone--”

Suddenly, Abel was flipped over onto his back, Cain's naked weight pressing down on him, soft and burning hot. _“Oh, but I'm not finished with you yet...”_ Cain growled in his ear, accompanying a playful bite at his earlobe.

Abel whimpered and shut his eyes tight, his heart throbbing through to the places where he was sore, reacting to this flash fire that had turned Cain into something dangerous and wild. “Cain...” he heard himself moan.

The other man grazed his teeth along the sensitive skin of Abel's neck, tending to the bite with a soothing, but still hungry kiss. “Hmm?”

“I _want_ to, but... I don't –- mmm –- I don't know if I can go again. I didn't –- realize how much it would _hurt_...” Abel managed.

Cain chuckled heartily, straddling Abel's hips and leaning down so they were nose to nose. “Oh, Ethan...” he laughed. _“You're_ going to fuck _me.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Zasranets_ \- little pest/little shit  
>  _Zatknis_ \- shut up


	6. Chapter 6

"Come on, Cain we have to hurry," Abel said, frantically tossing the other man's clothes on top of his head as he lay there, still snuggled in their nest of blankets. It was almost noon, and they had a mission to fly later that day. "If someone starts looking for us and can't find us, they'll think we went AWOL--"

Cain sighed. "Baby, there's nothing to worry about." He stretched out his arms sleepily, and his mouth stretched into a devious grin too, as he caught Abel staring. "We probably have time to go again if you want--"

_"Cain."_

"Alright, alright... sheesh..." Cain started mumbling to himself as he loudly flapped his shirt in front of him a few times and started putting his arms through the sleeves.

Abel quickly buttoned up his own shirt, and rolled his eyes as he found he was off by one button hole and had to start over. "So, you said this plane doesn't have a name?" he asked to distract Cain from his embarrassing mistake, and any lingering awkwardness there might have been between them after their night together.

"Nope," Cain answered, straining as he finally lifted himself off the floor to put his pants on.

"Don't you know it's bad luck to fly a plane with no name? A ship has to be christened," Abel reminded him dutifully.

"Well, I'm pretty sure that we christened it last night," Cain said wickedly, making Abel blush. "So why don't you name it?"

"Really? Can I?"

"By all means, please do..."

Abel chose to ignore the slight hint of sarcasm he heard in Cain's voice. He just smiled contently as he looked around the cargo hold. He was sure he would always have fond memories of the little nest they'd made, and all the things he had done for the first time therein.  What was it that Cain had said?

 _Sorry I couldn't get us better accommodations,_ princess _. Unfortunately, the war's all booked up._

He pondered as he slipped his boots back on his feet. "How about... the  _Princess?"_

Cain laughed heartily. "The  _Princess?_ Really? You're gonna name the plane after yourself?" he teased.

Abel shrugged. "Something like that," he said, still somewhat lost in the memories of the night before. So much so, that he was starting to reconsider Cain's offer to go again.

"Okay, fine," Cain acquiesced. "The  _Princess_ it is..."

 

 

* * *

 

There were those that said that the boys in the Army Air Forces were soft and weak, compared to their brothers in the infantry. But anyone who said that, had never been ten thousand feet above the ground, in what was nothing more than a glorified tin can, trying to keep it on course with sub-zero temperatures biting at their skin.

And there were some that said that flyboys were out of touch. Removed from all of the horrors of war, as they glided through the clouds, dropping bombs on people without ever having to look them in the eyes, without having their faces etched into their memory, without having to listen to them scream. But anyone who said that, had never flown a bombing run in the dark, with nothing to tell them where they were, except for a wristwatch and a compass, and an approximation of how hard the wind was blowing, and in what direction. And they obviously had never flown through a cloud of shrapnel, invisible against the starless night sky, except for little flashes of light where they exploded in front of the plane, sending out an array of small metal shards that could fly right through their little flying tin can, and tear up her insides and her crew.

And they certainly had never gone through all that, while trying to deal with one of their two engines catching fire.

He had practiced flying on one engine in flight school; he had practiced it with Cain in the _Reliant_ a just a few days before, and he'd gone over and over the procedures in his mind, making sure he had them memorized. Still, nothing could have prepared Abel for when it actually happened.

"Abel, the starboard engine is burning, shut it off, quick..." Cain said over the comm, strangely calm under literal fire.

"Uh... oh s-shit!" Abel gasped, as he fumbled with levers, taking what seemed like an eternity to remember which one to pull. There was a split second where he just flat out panicked, his frustration with his lack of familiarity with the plane coming to a boil and making him sweat under all his thick layers. Another burst not all that far away put a good sized crack in the windshield and Abel nearly jumped out of his clothes.

"Okay, just calm down, Abel. It's the levers on the right. You okay up there?" came Cain's voice in his ear, and his almost comforting tone induced a small flashback to the night before, as Abel shut off the engine and the propeller.

_Uhhh, Cain!_

_Shhh, it's okay, baby. I know it hurts. Just slow down.... and everything will be easier. I'm not going anywhere._

_Mmmph!_

_It'll feel good in a minute, I promise... Just give it a minute, and you'll forget all about this. Okay?_

_Mmhm..._

_Ohhh... You're -- fuck -- I shouldn't think you're gorgeous when you're hurting... but I do..._

Suddenly, something clicked in Abel's mind. It was as if time stood still, and he had all the time in the world to do what needed to be done. It may not have been true, but at least he understood, that taking an extra half of a second to make the right move, was better than instantaneously making the wrong one and crashing to the ground. He went effortlessly through his mental checklist then, and soon they were flying smooth as if nothing had happened at all.

"Alright, I think we're in the clear now," he said into the comm. "I'm glad they got us after we dropped the payload though. Pierce, how we doin'?"

"Everything looks good from here, sir. And we don't have any tag-alongs either. Should be smooth sailin' now," Pierce replied.

"Nice work, Keel-- I mean Abel... Nice work!" Cain stammered, and then there was some sort of benign clanging sound from inside his compartment and some swearing.

Abel's eyes went wide for about six different reasons. "You alright, Cain?"

"Yep! Fine!" came the strangled response. "Now... let me see if I can't get us home."

Everyone was quiet after that, no more conversation than was necessary to keep the _Reliant_ on her course back to Vincenzo. Abel just tried his best to relax, taking it one minute at a time, until they were back on the ground.

 

 

* * *

 

 

"Something wrong?" Cain asked, as they lay side by side in his cot, both of them still flushed a little from getting each other off with their hands. He was shy about the prospect of having sex in their tent, it seemed, so both of them were mostly dressed underneath a shared blanket.

It wasn't until he asked the question that Abel realized his forehead hurt from his frowning. He looked over at Cain, mustering up the courage to answer. "Are we gonna talk about the fact you almost called me Keeler? During the mission today?"

"Oh..." It was Cain's turn to frown, then. "I was sort of hoping you hadn't noticed."

Sensing that he was beating himself up about it, Abel slipped a reassuring hand around his waist. "Pierce told me about what happened," he said quietly. "He said... he said that you two were close."

"Is that so?" Cain replied, guarded and suddenly on edge.

"Well," Abel backpedaled, trying to choose his words more precisely. "He said that you two... loved each other."

Cain snorted, quietly laughing in a way that sounded more like hurting than humor. _"I_ loved Keeler," he clarified bitterly. "He didn't love me."

"Oh," Abel said, suddenly very sorry he'd brought it up, once he saw the pain in his eyes. Abel certainly wasn't mad... he was just so desperate to know where he and Cain stood. What was this thing that they were doing? Did it mean the same to Cain as it meant to him? They'd only known each other a few days, but somehow it seemed like much longer.

Cain lay back on his pillow, sighing as he stared up at the ceiling. "Are you familiar with the terms, pitching and catching?" he asked.

"Oh, um, sure."

"I never 'pitched' for Keeler," Cain explained. "Those were the terms he used, anyway. I only ever 'catched'... 'caught'... whatever."

"I see," Abel said, still trying to figure out why Cain was telling him this, even if he was glad that Cain was finally opening up to him. And that his conclusion from the previous night had been correct, that he had been Cain's first.

"He wouldn't -- he wouldn't let me," Cain continued, frustratedly rubbing his forehead with one hand. "He thought that he'd found some fucking loophole, like if he was the one doing the fucking, then somehow it meant he wouldn't go to hell..."

"Oh."

"Course he didn't seem to mind if _I_ did." Cain let out another quiet, bitter chuckle, and then fell silent.

"Then, why did you... let him?" Abel pleaded, still choosing his words carefully, trying not to talk about it as crudely as Cain had done, whether out of respect for Cain or respect for the dead he wasn't sure. "Why were you... with him at all? If you felt that way about it?"

Cain looked at him finally, a sort of hurt confusion darkening his eyes, like he wasn't even really sure himself. "Because I loved him? And... I don't believe in hell?"

Both of them laughed nervously then, and Abel took it as a good opportunity to shift the subject. "You know... based on what Pierce told me... it just seems like you and him were really lucky, that you had pilot training. You probably wouldn't have made it home otherwise."

Cain snorted again, dismissively. "I don't believe in luck either."

"Still..." Abel said patiently. "I remember you saying you were supposed to be a pilot. I know what it's like to feel that way. I've always thought... Well, I was supposed to be a navigator. I signed up to be a navigator. But things turned out different. Maybe it was for a reason."

Suddenly interested, Cain lifted himself up, leaning on his elbow as he looked intently at Abel. _"You_ signed up to--"

"Yep," Abel nodded. "It seemed like lots of boys wanted to be fighter pilots. I figured that navigators would be in higher demand, since no one seemed to want to be one."

"What happened?" Cain asked, his eyes wide.

Abel let out his own bitter, slightly amused sound. "I got a very condescending letter from my father. He said that if I ever decided to pursue a political career, that it would look better if I had been a pilot in the war. That no one would want to elect a navigator." He did his best to imitate his father's patronizing tone as he quoted the letter as best he could. "If I was going to insist on enlisting, then I needed to use my experience in the military to show that I was capable of handling a leadership position. Now ordinarily, a father writing a letter like that wouldn't mean much. But first off, I don't intend to _ever_ go into politics, and my father knew that all too well, and secondly, my father's a United States Senator, and just happens to know _just_ the right people to get my orders changed.... I'm sure he would have stopped me from enlisting in the first place if he could..."

Abel thought about it for a moment, forehead wrinkled with some emotion that wavered between regret and rage. "Sometimes I think I enlisted just to get away from him."

"Fuck," Cain said sympathetically.

"So... anyhow... I was transferred to flight school the next day," Abel concluded.

 _"Fuck!"_ Cain repeated, his eyes as wide as saucers.

"Yeah..." Abel concurred. "God, I need a cigarette," he sighed, rolling over to grab a pack out of his jacket, which had been discarded on the floor. 

"Here," Cain said, offering him a light, and Abel was so out of it that he didn't even realize until after his cigarette was lit, he'd forgotten to offer one to Cain. "Oh, did you want--"

"No, that's okay. I like just watching you do it."

"Really?!" Abel replied, a little embarrassed and suddenly self-aware.

"Yeah. You look really sexy when you smoke," Cain said huskily.

"Oh _really?"_ Abel giggled, biting his lip as he blew smoke out of his nose, in two streams like a dragon, like he'd seen Cain do the other night, and the other man's dark eyes danced around in the light, watching him, roaming over where his curves rose and fell under the blanket. Then just to tease him, Abel shifted the cigarette in his hand, smoking it more like a girl would... graceful... seductive... frail...

Cain's expression changed a microscopic amount, suddenly seeming more agitated, even as he seemed more aroused. "What?" Abel asked him, innocent as could be.

"What are you doing?" Cain narrowed his eyes, suddenly guarded again.

Abel shrugged, laughing it off. "What? Nothing!"

Cain did not seem amused. "Why are you acting all... faggy all of a sudden?"

Freezing in place, Abel stared blankly at Cain as he flicked some ash behind him onto the floor. He was definitely getting some mixed messages. With the way his cheeks were pink, his eyebrows turned down, it took him a moment to realize that Cain wasn't angry, he was just worried. He wasn't lashing out at Abel, he was lashing out at himself, maybe for liking what he saw. Both of them had to spend their lives being so careful, not to do anything, or say anything, even in jest, that would give them away.

He decided to do the brave thing for once, leaning in and just kissing Cain intensely, swiping in just the slightest amount of tongue, yet another thing he'd learned from his navigator. He kissed him until a small moan of approval escaped Cain's throat, then he pulled away, pressing their foreheads together. _"It's okay,"_ Abel insisted, his voice suddenly hoarse. "It's okay. We don't have to hide who we are in here." He soothingly ran his fingers through raven hair with his free hand. "You're safe with me. We don't have to pretend."

He wasn't sure if he'd said the right thing, until Cain grabbed him back for another long kiss, tangling their legs together, seeming to pour a wealth of emotion into the place where their lips met as he pressed his body to Abel's. He melted into Cain's arms for a few moments, before he remembered he still had a lit cigarette in his hand. "Oh! Hold that thought. Sorry..." he said, rolling over to put it out on the dirt. 

But it seemed when he turned back around, that Cain's mind had already shifted somewhere else.  "Can I ask you something? While we're um... talking about... stuff?" he asked shyly.

"Oh! Sure..." Abel answered.

"Sometimes... I fantasize about... being with a guy that's wearing women's underwear," Cain admitted slowly, wincing with embarrassment. "What does that mean? Does that mean I'm really straight or something?"

Abel snorted. "I don't think it means you're straight. I would say it means quite the opposite," he laughed. He was quick to elaborated when Cain frowned dejectedly. "No, it's alright! I suppose we all have stuff like that; it's just that no one ever talks about it. In fact, I have things that are way worse than that..."

"Such as?" Cain asked, raising a skeptical eyebrow.

"Well..." Abel tilted his head, once again having to muster up the courage to speak. "Um... sometimes, I think I might like for someone to... to scar me."

 _"Scar you?"_ Cain leaned in, looking a bit mortified. 

Abel nodded. "I don't know why, I just... like the idea. That someone would want to... put a permanent mark on me that meant that I was his. It would be kind of like a tattoo, except..." he admitted, his voice failing him toward the end.

Cain mulled this over for a moment. "And... where would this scar be?" 

"I always sort of imagined it being on my lip..." Abel explained, touching a certain place on the left side. "Like a bite mark? I know it's stupid, I--"

"Ethan..." Cain interrupted him, scooting a little closer so he could look Abel in the eye, serious and concerned. He brushed a few locks of hair away from Abel's forehead, his eyes flitting between Abel's eyes and that place on his lips. "Do you want me to do this to you?" 

"I... " Abel faltered; felt himself blush deep red as he nodded again, slowly. He was getting hard again just thinking about it, just having to say the words out loud. "But... not -- not right now. Part of the fantasy is that... it's something that is done _to_ me, you see? I don't get to decide when it happens. I... I do want you to, but only when you decide that it's the right time. If you want to at all."

Cain looked at him, just barely nodding his head. "Okay," he whispered.

Abel started a bit, eyes widening in surprise. "So... you'll do it then? Really?"

"Sure," Cain said, so quiet that Abel could barely hear him. "I, um, I feel rather drawn to the idea myself, actually."

"Really?!"

"But... don't feel like you have to wear women's underwear for me, or anything," Cain scoffed. "You don't have to."

"That's alright." Abel smiled big, leaning up to touch his nose to Cain's. "I feel rather drawn to the idea myself."

Cain's expression lit up like a Christmas tree, and he gazed optimistically at Abel for a few long moments, chewing on his lip. He dragged his gaze down Abel's body again, and Abel blushed even more, knowing that he had noticed the tent under the blanket. "There's something else I'd like to try. Right now actually..." Cain said cheerily.

"Oh yeah?... Oh..." he watched as Cain hid himself under the blanket, until he was just a lump in between Abel's legs.  He gasped with pleasure, and grabbed the pillow, proactively putting it over his face to muffle his moans, as he felt Cain's mouth envelop him in soft, wet heat.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Awww, WW2 Cain and Abel discover kink :3 my little bbs are all grown up.  
> I just like the idea (even if it's just my own headcanon) that in the comic, Cain and Abel live in a time where a lot of this stuff would just be open for discussion and accepted, so I wanted to create a contrast to that. Hope that makes sense.


	7. Chapter 7

_"Va, pensiero, sull'ali dorate;_   
_va, ti posa sui clivi, sui colli,_   
_ove olezzano tepide e molli_   
_l'aure dolci del suolo natal!"_

Abel woke up the next morning in Cain's arms, to the sound of a woman singing just outside the tent. He shifted in the other man's embrace, trying to get comfortable with both of them on the small cot. Straining to look up at Cain, he was surprised to see that his eyes were open, like he'd been lying there awake for a while. He exchanged a silent smile with him before settling against his chest, listening to him quietly hum along with the tune the woman was singing.

"What is that song?" Abel asked quietly.

"It's Verdi," Cain whispered. "The women sing it a lot for some reason, when they come to tend to the vineyard."

"What's it about?"

Cain took a few seconds to answer. "It's about being homesick," he said finally. "For a home that doesn't really exist anymore."

"Hmm..." Abel sighed, completely empathizing with the concept. Hell, he felt more at home here in Cain's arms than he ever had in the States. Pondering for a moment, he remembered that it was Saturday, which meant that he and Cain had known each other only six days. It also meant that he had the day off, and didn't have any reason to get out of bed any time soon. He snuggled even closer to Cain, pulling the displaced blanket up over them as much as he could. They lay there listening to the woman sing, as she drifted away to another part of the camp.

_Del Giordano le rive saluta,_   
_di Sionne le torri atterrate..._   
_O, mia patria, sì bella e perduta!_   
_O, membranza, sì cara e fatal!_

"Ethan..." Cain said quietly when they could no longer hear her, his lips up against Abel's hair. "There's something I have to do today."

"Alright?" Abel replied, hoping his disappointment wasn't evident in his voice.

"I just want you to know, that, no matter what happens.... I'm really glad that I met you," Cain said in earnest. "You're the first good thing that's happened to me in a long time."

Abel lifted up to look at him, to try to make sense of what he was saying. "Why does it sound like... you're saying goodbye?"

Cain shook his head. "I'm not, I hope. But... you never know," he said with a helpless shrug, and Abel knew exactly what he meant, what kind of danger Cain was vaguely referring to, and it made his blood run cold.

"When will you be back?" was the question that he settled for; though he had many more, he was sure he didn't have time to ask them all.

"Hopefully, either tomorrow, or Monday at the latest."

"And I can't go with  you--"

"No," Cain interrupted, just shaking his head and not saying anything else.

Abel just stared at him, hurt and confused, but Cain pulled him forward, and kissed Abel hungrily, as if somehow he could make him forget what was about to happen if he kissed him hard enough. "I'm sorry baby," he whispered, before leaning back in, pushing Abel's lips apart so he could swirl their tongues together. Abel melted into it as Cain's body pressed against his, Cain holding him tight with an arm around his waist and fingers threaded through Abel's hair, but then he suddenly caught Abel's lips between his teeth, and bit down, hard. 

"Mmm!!!" Abel struggled for just a second against the surprise and the pain of it, before he surrendered, realizing that this was it... that Cain was doing what he'd asked. Then it was over, and Cain pulled away, looking at him with an unreadable expression, something feral in his eyes, just a smear of Abel's blood on his lips. He could feel Cain's hardness pressed up against his thigh.

Abel put his hand up to his now-throbbing lip, drawing away more blood. He stared at his fingers for a moment, then looked back at Cain.

"I don't think I really bit you hard enough to leave a scar. I'm not sure--" Cain started, but couldn't finish his thought, as Abel rushed forward and crashed their lips together again.

"I don't care. I want you so bad right now," he whispered, running his palm over Cain's erection under the blanket. "Please..."

"Ethan," Cain murmured, gently pushing Abel away and looking at his watch. "I'm sorry, I have to go..."

"We can be quick, can't we?" Abel pleaded as Cain sat up and reached down for his boots. "I don't even care if I finish, I just... need you inside me... please--"

Cain stopped him with two fingers over his bleeding lips, and a cold look in his eyes. "Do you belong to me or don't you?"

Abel nodded slowly, so hard from Cain talking to him like this that he could hardly speak. "Yes... I do..."

"Then I can have you whenever I choose?" Cain asked sternly.

"Yes. You can," Abel admitted.

"Then you will wait. Until I return." It was not a question. Abel just nodded again, feeling the heat rise in his cheeks as the raven-haired man stood and left him there, wanting. Cain straightened his clothes, and began to put on his leather jacket, but then suddenly he stopped, and turned back to look at Abel. "That wasn't too much was it?" he asked, wincing, suddenly back to his usual self.

"N-no! That was... good. Really good," Abel said, trying to encourage him without giving away just how much he'd liked being talked to that way... as if the tent in his shorts wasn't an indication.

"I was just... pretending," Cain said with a modest shrug. "But... I really don't have time to. I'm sorry. I have to get going," he said, rushing over to his footlocker and hoisting the top open.

Abel took one look at the way he was dressed and knew exactly where he was going. Up. "This has something to do with the _Princess._ Doesn't it?" he demanded.

The rummaging in the footlocker stopped for a moment, but Cain didn't give him any answer before starting back up again. The fact that Cain walked away from the chest with a pistol, and a holster, and a map in his hands, told Abel everything he needed to know. "I'll be back before you know it," Cain said, as he buckled the holster around his waist. He stood there for a moment, looking like he was going to say something else, but then he just wiped his mouth off with the back of his hand and ducked out of the tent.

Abel didn't waste a single second. He jumped out of the cot and pushed on his own boots, and rushed over to the entrance. He poked his head out just in time to see Cain walk into the C.O.'s office. That meant he still had some time. He put on his own flight jacket, and some other warm gear, and headed out, to go find an oxygen tank.

 

* * *

 

Abel sat quiet as a mouse, hidden under a tarp in the cargo hold, his bones still trembling from the freezing cold and the roaring of the engine, even though they were back on the ground. They had flown for _hours_ , and Abel had only the vaguest of ideas of where they could have flown in that amount of time. He hadn't expected to be in the air that long, and now he was completely regretting his decision to stow away. In fact, he was certain it was the worst idea he'd ever had. But here he was, listening to Cain rummage through the cargo, the fall of his boots vibrating through the floor as he paced around.

Suddenly the pacing stopped, and Abel didn't know how he knew, he just knew that Cain knew he wasn't alone. There were a few seconds of terrifying silence, before Abel heard the action of a pistol being cocked back. "Speak up, or I'll shoot," he heard Cain growl over the pounding of his heart.

"It's me, Abel!" he said quickly, and loud, having absolutely zero reasons to hesitate. There were a few more moments of slightly less terrifying silence.

"No..." Cain breathed, barely audible. He rushed over and lifted up the tarp, and Abel got a look at his horrified face in the darkness. "You can't be here. _What the fuck are you doing here?"_ he said frantically.

"I don't know, I just... thought you were in trouble and you needed my help--"

"I have to hide you," Cain said, and Abel had never heard him so panicked. "Come on, _hurry."_

"Cain, what's going on?!" Abel pleaded as Cain dragged him and his oxygen tank out of his hiding place, and over to a vented panel on the inside wall of the plane. Cain used his fingers to pry the panel easily away, exposing a small hiding place, hardly big enough for a person to fit inside.

"Hurry, get in!" Cain commanded, pushing Abel into the compartment forcefully, shoving the tank in behind him. "They'll be here soon... Ethan listen to me, you have to be absolutely still. Absolutely silent. They can not know that you're here. Got it?"

"I -- Cain, wait!"

But it was too late. Cain had already shoved the panel back on the wall, and stormed away, leaving him there alone in the cramped compartment. Abel hugged his knees tight to his chest to make himself smaller, and just for some small amount of comfort, if he was being honest. It was still rather cold in the plane, and it had been hours since he'd eaten or had anything to drink, or had even been able to take a leak.

He realized that if he looked through the vents at just the right angle, he could see most of the cargo hold, even if it was mostly dark. He sat there, trying to be as still and silent as he could, just waiting for Cain to come back.

He didn't have to wait long. His breath caught in his chest as he heard a couple of men climbing into the hold, speaking a language that did not sound anything like English. To his horror, Cain was one of them, fluently speaking in some foreign tongue that Abel could only guess was Russian, as he pointed out various items that he had brought with him to the other, shorter man. The stranger listened, a very bored look on his face, as if Cain wasn't really worth but a fraction of his attention. Soon two more men and a woman climbed in after them, standing there looking tough as nails as the small, bored one gave them instructions and then climbed back out of the plane.

Abel watched as Cain and the woman just looked at each other intensely, as the other men went to work unloading. "Katya," Cain said to her affectionately, and Abel didn't think he'd ever seen Cain smile so big. Then the young woman was hugging him around the neck, and prattling off to him about something Abel couldn't understand. Abel was fluent in body language, however, and he couldn't misread the way she stood so close to Cain while they were talking, and the way they never really stopped touching each other, either holding each others' hands in between them, or putting their arms around each others' middles, or putting their faces unnecessarily close together. It didn't escape Abel's attention though, that this woman -- whom he assumed was named Katya, since Cain repeated those two syllables what seemed like a hundred times -- was also wearing a small sidearm.

Their carrying on only seemed to get worse when they had an audience. Abel found himself biting into his hand in distress, as he saw the two of them share a very passionate-looking kiss on the mouth, right in front of the short, bored man who seemed to be in charge of the unloaders. The man pulled Cain away from her as much as he could to have a professional-sounding conversation, but Cain and Katya still held hands the whole time the two men were talking. They looked so comfortable with each other, and somehow so right for each other, with their matching heads of raven hair and their guns... the whole thing just made Abel sick to his stomach.

By the time the men finished unloading, Abel was about ready to cry, between having to watch all of the feelings he'd developed for Cain get methodically deconstructed until there was no stone left unturned, and the anxiety that perhaps these strange men with guns would find him, and the fact that he still had to relieve himself. But it seemed the torment wasn't quite over yet. Cain and Katya soon said goodbye to the unloaders, and stayed there alone, standing in the dark, just talking. Even stranger, they seemed to act less... familiar around each other now that they were alone. They were hardly touching each other now. And even _stranger_ , they seemed to be speaking at least partly in English.

Abel strained his ear, leaning in as close to the vent as he could without touching it, trying to grasp any portion of what they were saying that he could. Unfortunately, he got a little too close to the metal panel, and he nudged it just enough for it to creak. But that one creak was loud enough for the whole world to hear.

Like a deer in the headlights, Abel looked out of the vent to see if Cain or the woman had noticed. And sure enough, Katya was already pointing her pistol right at him, like she could see through walls.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fly, thought, on wings of gold;  
> go settle upon the slopes and the hills,  
> where, soft and mild, the sweet airs  
> of our native land smell fragrant!
> 
> Greet the banks of the Jordan  
> and Zion's toppled towers...  
> Oh, my country, so beautiful and lost!  
> Oh, remembrance, so dear and so fatal!


	8. Chapter 8

Cain didn’t hate kissing Katya; it was pleasant enough in and of itself, he had to admit. No, it was everything that surrounded the kiss that he really hated. He grieved the fact she enjoyed it much more than he did, and in convincing the Soviets the kiss was real, he undoubtedly did something to convince her as well. She knew better in her mind, but who could tell what went on in her heart?

And he hated that he couldn’t escape the feeling, that there was something wrong with him, something broken, since he could kiss such an incredible young woman, and not feel the fucking fireworks that exploded in his core whenever he kissed Ethan.

But he hated most of all that there was a part of him that really did want to kiss her, that wanted to tell her through some sort of action, anyway, those feelings he had a hard time putting into words. He wanted to savor their reunion, even with the heartbreak of knowing Abel was watching from just a few feet away. Even though it was supposed to be nothing more than a convenient lie for Deimos and his men, to make him seem more loyal, and trustworthy, and to have an excuse to be with his female co-conspirator alone. Sometime's Cain wasn't sure what was more complicated: the lie, or the truth.

“Ahem. Kovalenko.” Speaking of the devil, Deimos had obviously grown tired of the couple’s passionate display. Upon hearing his name, Cain slowly extracted himself from Katya, hesitant to give the shorter man his attention.

 _“You do still intend to marry Katerina,”_ Deimos rasped in Russian, raising a very unyielding eyebrow. ‘And make an honest woman out of her,’ he heavily implied, though Cain knew what Deimos did not: that he and Katya had only ever been complicit in a very different kind of dishonesty.

Cain felt his face go hot, maybe from anger, maybe from embarrassment of having to own up to something he had never done. _“Of course,”_ he answered, still holding Katya’s hand. _“But Katya says she wants to wait until after my tour of duty is over. Unless you want her to come live with me in a tent,”_ he said sarcastically, and eased a little when Katya giggled beside him.

Deimos turned up his nose at that idea, scoffing in that pretentious, airy way of his. _“Were there not arrangements for her to live with your mother in New York?”_

 _“There were, if she_ wanted _to,”_ Cain emphasized. _“However Katya has insisted she wants to remain with you and serve the Molotki.”_

 _“Katya refuses to serve our operation with the responsibilities I have assigned her,”_ Deimos said, tilting his head so his bangs fell away and revealed his other ghostly pale eye. _“Since her brother is no longer with us, it is my responsibility to--”_

 _“Since her brother is no longer with you, your operation has gone to hell!”_ Cain hissed, just barely managing to keep his tone civil under a sudden pang of guilt. _“And Katya would be one of your best agents, better than Matvei ever was, if you would only trust her to do the same work the rest of you do.”_ Deimos rolled his eyes at this assertion, but Cain pressed on. _“But you still insist that she do your cooking and cleaning?! No wonder you want to pawn her off on me, like she is some sort of dead weight to you. Katya doesn’t need you to run her life. She should be running this whole show, not you!”_

 _“Your feelings for her cloud your judgement,”_ Deimos accused, and Cain broke into prideful laughter at how wrong he was, how blind. From Cain’s perspective, Katya was running the show already. _“We need someone to do housework. But she is stubborn, and as blinded by her emotions as you are.”_

Cain snorted and shook his head, barely stomaching the insults. He felt Katya squeeze his hand, giving him the much-needed silent reminder, not to punch the other man in the face. _“I will fulfill my obligation to Katya,”_ he promised instead, with cold determination, acquiescing on Deimos’s original point. Even if he failed to specify what exactly his obligation was, or when he would fulfill it.

 _“Fine,”_ Deimos said, haughtily crossing his arms. He looked around the cargo bay, seeing that it was now empty of Cain’s smuggled supplies. _“We need to be going.”_

Katya squeezed Cain’s hand a little harder. _“If you don’t mind, Aleks. Sacha and I can walk to the house,”_ she insisted.

 _“Fine. Do not be too long,”_ the shorter man said to her, and called his men away to the truck.

 

  
Cain stood there with Katya, his mind racing a million miles an hour, still on edge even as he listened to the truck's engine slowly fade away. He could breathe a small sigh of relief now that it was just Katya, and Cain silently pleaded with Abel to forgive him, to hold on just a little bit longer.

"Ugh, I thought they'd never leave..." Katya joked, and both of them laughed, nervous and quiet. Cain smiled a little at her familiar accent, a voice that only he had ever heard, since he had been the one to teach her English in secret. She put her hand on her hips, acting more like herself, confident and bossy, now that she didn’t have to put on a show. "We need to go over what you told Aleks the other day, so I can alert my superiors."

"Right..." Cain agreed distractedly, barely able to listen or look at her as he tried to think of a plan. He wouldn't make Katya walk home alone, and yet he had to somehow let Abel out of the hiding place without her seeing him. He decided to stall for time. "You okay?" he asked. It was a sincere question, even if his motives for asking were impure.

Katya sighed longingly and nodded. “I’m holding up. _Though things were easier when you and Matvei were around,”_ she said in Russian.

 _"I know,"_ Cain whispered, eyes dragging along the ground as another pang of guilt ripped through him. "Are those _mudaks_ keeping their hands to themse--”

Cain knew exactly what the noise was when he heard it, a loud creak coming from the compartment where Abel was hiding. Inwardly he swore profusely, though he tried to keep his expression blank, even as Katya drew her pistol as fast as any American gunslinger ever had. His eyes went just a fraction wider. "Whoa, slow down, Annie Oakley--" he joked.

"What was that noise?" she said quickly, taking a step closer to the wall. "Didn't you hear it?"

"I... Katya, just hold on a second," he said calmly, trying to keep her calm, but she turned her head toward him, her eyes wild with suspicion.

"What’s going on?! Who is in there?" she demanded, still pointing her gun at the vent.

Cain glared at her defensively, as if she were pointing the gun at him. He stepped slowly in the direction of the compartment, Katya watching him like a hawk as he moved. His panicked logic was that maybe if he walked slowly enough, he could block her line of sight before she realized what he was doing. "If you'll just put the gun away, then I'll explain everything," he bargained, putting his hands up slightly to placate her.

"You will explain whether I put the gun away or not," Katya snapped back, and then she was pointing the pistol at him, because he had successfully positioned himself between her and Abel.

Cain frowned. "I thought we could trust each other," he accused, his hands still up in the air. Without looking at it he pictured the gun on his hip, and briefly considered if he would have time to draw his weapon and shoot her to keep her from shooting him.

"I don't trust anyone," Katya spat coldly. "Not even you. Not with things like this."

As much as it stung to hear her say it, Cain knew Katya was just being sensible. He huffed, still glaring even as he mentally surrendered. "Okay... I brought someone with me," he lied, and fuck did that hurt, because he couldn’t remember ever lying to Katya before.

"Who?" she insisted.

 _"Lubimyi moy, Katya,"_ he admitted, his voice a little softer.

"Tch!"

"He's had a rough week!" Cain argued with the unspoken protest, pretending to cop an attitude with her like a teenager who wasn’t getting his way. “I just wanted to take him away and show him a good time--”

"Get him out of there!" she ordered. Cain backed up slowly toward the panel, not willing to turn his back on Katya and her gun until he absolutely had to. _"I can't believe you. Treating this mission like it's some kind of fucking honeymoon,"_ she ranted in her native language, as he turned and pulled the panel off the wall. _"Your face is known in Istanbul, Sacha. You cannot just go parading around with a strange man!"_

"Cain!" Abel gasped as he was pulled out of the compartment, and then both of them were scolding, with Cain pinned in on either side. "I can’t believe I trusted you! Did she just say Istanbul?!"

 _"I expected better from you. This is very serious,"_ Katya was saying in his other ear. _"He could have been killed! And you don't even know if you can trust him to keep quiet!"_

"Alright, alright, alright!" Cain barked, putting his hands up in the air this time just to shut everyone up. "I can't have both of you yelling at me all at once, and in two different languages. You're gonna have to take turns!”

"Okay, but first thing's first," Abel said unilaterally. "I really have to take a leak."

 

Katya put her gun away finally, but glared at Cain the whole time that Abel was doing his business, shaking her head with painful disappointment. _“What?”_ Cain snapped at her finally.

 _“You should be watching him to make sure he doesn’t try to escape,”_ she reproached in a whisper.

 _“He’s not going anywhere,”_ Cain insisted, rolling his head back in exasperation. _“He has to be back on the base by Monday, he’s not going to go running around some strange city he doesn't know.”_

 _“How do you know?”_ Katya insisted. _“How long have you even known him? Or are you planning on having a tryst on all of your smuggling runs?”_

 _“Oh, is that what this is about,”_ Cain snapped at her, sensing a bit of jealously in her voice.

 _“No. That’s_ not _what this is about,”_ she hissed. _“Bylad. Sacha,”_ she said sternly, utterly fed up. _“Do you remember what you said to me? About wanting me to move to America where I would be safe? You said, ‘This has nothing to do with the fact that you’re a woman. It has everything to do with the fact that I love you.’ Remember that?”_

 _“Yes, Katya, I do,”_ he said apologetically, with a sheepish look in Abel’s direction, even though Abel wouldn’t have understood if he’d heard. Abel wouldn’t have understood even if he’d _understood_ , because there wasn’t a word for how Cain felt about Katya. Even _he_ didn’t understand how he felt about Katya.

 _“Well. This has nothing to do with the fact that I love you,”_ she whispered scathingly. _“It has everything to do with the fact that you have jeopardized all of our hard work with this incredibly stupid act. And when you do this kind of thing, on my watch? It is on my head.”_

 _“All right. I get it. I fucked up,”_ Cain admitted through gritted teeth. _“Tell me what I have to do to fix it.”_

“Tch!” Katya turned away dramatically, pacing in a small circle while she shook her head at the ground. Finally she looked back at him, a fiercely bitter look in her eyes. _“You know what you_ should _do to fix it,”_ she said. _“But I’m not going to ask you to do that… Both of us have enough blood on our hands already.”_

Cain felt his blood pressure rising, his breath labored in his chest like his body was gearing up for a fight. _“Even if you asked me to, I wouldn’t do it,”_ he growled.

 _“Then I would do it for you,”_ Katya said flatly. _“So it’s a good thing I’m not asking, isn’t it?”_

 

Abel walked up just then, so Cain fell silent, looking between him and Katya, too angry to speak. He’d just gotten the tongue lashing of a lifetime, and none of this was even his fault. His mind in a rage-filled haze, he just leaned against the wall as Katya turned her scrutinous eye on Abel. Let him endure her wrath for a while, he thought.

“Who are you?” she demanded, right on cue.

“I’m not answering questions for any Soviet spy,” Abel said coldly.

“Well lucky for you, I’m not a Soviet spy,” Katya retorted. “Now what is your name?”

Abel looked her up and down, visibly put out, and stood up slightly straighter. “Abel. Ethan. First Lieutenant, United States Army Air Forces,” he recited.

Katya strode into his personal space, sizing him up. “And how did you convince Sacha to bring you with him?”

Abel looked over at Cain, eyes about to pop out of his head. “I --”

“Don’t answer that,” Cain said dismissively. “Katya, it was my idea. And I did a background check on him the day that I met him. He came back green.”

“Wait, you thought _I_ needed a background check? What about you?!” Abel stabbed an accusing finger at Cain. “You’re the one speaking in Russian and smuggling stolen supplies across Europe, and _I_ need a background check?”

Katya gave Cain a look. He cleared his throat and tried to quickly change the tone of the conversation. “Okay. How about, we all just calm down, and sit, and have a little chat. Alright?”

Stubbornly, the two of them complied, eyeing each other as they sat down on the floor of the plane. Cain followed after them, leaning against the wall, watching them to make sure that no one made any sudden moves. “Right,” he said once they were all settled. “Ethan? This is Katya. A distant relative of mine from the USSR. Also -- full disclosure -- I have agreed to marry Katya in the event she decides to move to America, just so she can get a visa, and so I can help her get on her feet. Her, uh, associates that you saw, think that we are engaged.”

“... Oh…” Abel said, not quite looking at anyone. “Hello.”

“How do you do?” Katya answered rigidly.

“Katya, this is Ethan,” Cain continued calmly. “He is the pilot in my bomber crew. We are also... seeing each other in a romantic capacity."

“And who are you, exactly?” Abel said to him, looking him in the eye. “She called you Sacha a minute ago, didn’t she?”

Cain nodded slowly. “It’s true. Sacha is a Russian nickname for Alexander, which is what’s on my dog tags,” he said, pointing at his chest.

“And Cain? Is that your real name?”

He hesitated for a moment before answering. “Yes and no. I was born with the last name Kovalenko, which was my mother’s maiden name. It was changed to Cain recently; Cain is my father’s last name.”

“Why did you change it?” Abel asked.

“So people wouldn’t think that I was Russian,” he admitted.

Abel looked at him with hurt in his eyes. “So all of those things you told me… about growing up in New York, and the opera, and all that? All of that was a lie?”

“No… all that was true. I was born in the States. My _mother_ was born in Russia,” he clarified. “She came to America with her parents when she was a little girl. My parents split up when I was little, so my grandparents helped raise me. So I speak unaccented Russian.”

He could see Abel swallow in the dim light, mustering up the courage to ask his next question. Cain mentally braced for it. “So… what are you doing, with an American plane, full of American supplies, in Istanbul, giving it out to a bunch of Russian… ‘associates’?” Abel asked with a flustered gesture.

He nodded to silently acknowledge the bizarreness of the situation. “Istanbul is a…what was the phrase?” he looked at Katya, snapping his fingers as he tried to remember.

“A crossroads of intelligence activity,” Katya quoted.

“Right,” Cain bowed slightly in gratitude. “The organization I work for has given me permission, to fly these supplies in and give them to the Soviets, to help earn their trust. I give them supplies and information. The supplies and information are tracked, to see how they flow through their networks.”

He could see a light bulb suddenly come on in Abel’s head. “Oh, so you’re… spying on the spies!” he exclaimed.

“Yes!" Cain agreed emphatically. He couldn’t have put it better himself. “We don’t care so much about these guys,” he said, pointing at the door where Deimos and the workers had been standing earlier. “They’re little fish. They’re sloppy, and not very effective. We’re just using them as bait, to try and catch a bigger fish.”

“Ohh,” Abel said, and Cain could see the wheels still turning in his mind. “And Katya is in on it with you.”

“Yes,” Katya answered for herself. “The Soviets have to believe that we are madly in love,” she said melodramatically. “Because they think it will make us more loyal to them and each other. And at the same time, it makes our sneaking around look relatively harmless.”

“Oh! So… you’re like his beard!” Abel said to Katya, grinning at his deduction.

“Ha, he is quick!” Katya laughed, sharing a smile with Cain. “Except, it’s not like that kind of beard really. I’m his _spy_ beard,” she giggled, and Abel joined in her amusement. Cain just lolled his head back, knocking it against the wall and sighing heavily with the awkwardness, of his lover and his fake lover getting friendly with each other. He silently reproached himself for teaching Katya English as thoroughly as he had.

“Well, this has certainly been very… enlightening,” Abel said with a nervous cheerfulness that belied how out of place he really felt. Overwhelming might have been a better word for the look on his face. “I suppose this is the part where you tell me I should forget everything that I saw today.”

“No,” Katya said quickly. “By all means, remember.” Cain just looked at her and frowned, not sure what she was on about. “You should memorize the details of those men’s faces. You should memorize every crate, every piece of cargo that was on this plane. Because if anyone ever finds out that you were here,” she leaned in, staring at Abel ominously. “Your life might depend on being able to tell what you saw.”

“Well…” Abel pondered, his voice very small. “Perhaps it would be better if no one ever found out I was here,” he said, his shoulders hunched under the weight of Katya’s glare.

“Perhaps it would,” Katya agreed, her point successfully made.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oops, I think I made Cain sort of bi-romantic... sorry/not sorry.  
> Oops, I think I heavily abused the use of italics in this chapter... sorry/not sorry.  
> Oops, I think I injected another awesome female OC into my M/M fanfiction.... sorry/not sorry.  
> *throws up hands and struts away*


	9. Chapter 9

 

 

**Two years earlier.**

"Katerina?" Sacha called softly, peeking his head in the bedroom door.  She didn't stir, didn't acknowledge, so Sacha pushed forward, keeping the bowl balanced in his hand as he closed the door behind him. "Katya, get up, I brought food."

"I'm not fucking hungry," she muttered, her face hidden in the pillow, her hair a long, frizzy mess.

"Yes you are," Sacha said sternly as he sat beside her on the bed. "Come on, Katya, you haven't had anything to eat since the funeral. I brought you some borscht."

This seemed to get Katya's attention. She lifted her head, a sharp, startled movement, looking at Sacha sideways. "Where the fuck did you get borscht?" she snapped weakly.

"I made it."

"Tch!" Katya sat up, re-situating herself amongst the pillows and covers before sulkingly grabbing the bowl from Sacha's hands. She sniffed it warily before slowly lifting the bowl up to her lips.

"Heh, don't you want a spoon?" Sacha chuckled, holding it up for her, but Katya just lowered the bowl into her lap and glared. "...Is it not good?" he asked, pouting just a bit.

Katya stared at him for another long, awkward moment before she answered. "How can you even think about eating or making jokes?" she whispered scoldingly. "After what we've done?"

Sacha scowled, trying to deflect the guilt by not quite meeting Katya's accusing eyes. "We've been through this, Katya," he said quietly, defensively. "Your brother... was out of control. He was reckless and unpredictable--"

"Yes, but did that mean he had to die?!" Katya demanded, her voice little more than air, but still cracking from not enough talking and too many tears.

"The OSS thought so."

Katya just shook her head bitterly, turning her attention out the window, to the warm light of a summer afternoon. Sacha felt helpless in that moment, helpless to do anything to console her, and he certainly couldn't undo what they'd done, and bring Matvei back to life, even if he wanted to. He had a sudden urge to take her into his arms and hold her, but there was that cold look in her eyes, and the hot bowl of soup in her lap that blocked the way.

Instead, he just reached out for her knee, gently massaging it with his thumb through the blanket. "I've been thinking, Katya," he confessed, waiting for her to acknowledge that she was listening, which she did not. "In America, there is a law, that if you marry an American citizen, you can move there to live with them."

Katya only glanced at him for a moment, quirking up an annoyed eyebrow before returning to her emotionless gaze out the window.

"I was thinking, that maybe when I went back to the States, that you could come with me."

"Why..." Katya asked flatly, not looking at him. "Do you think they suspect something?"

"No," Sacha answered with a quiet snort. "They're too busy coming up with wild conspiracy theories. You know how they are, they over-estimate their own importance, so obviously there must have been some sort of elaborate plot--"

Katya finally turned, to give him a look that said she required an answer to the former part of her question. _Why._

"I just... want to get you out of here," he whispered with a shrug. "And take you somewhere where you'll be safe... somewhere where I'll be able to protect you--"

Katya's expression hardened as she sneered at him, and inwardly Sacha was glad to see some of her usual fierceness bleed through her depression, even if it had to be directed at him. "Protect me?!" she spat. "I don't need your protection, Sacha. I am just as capable of handling myself in this world as you are."

"Yeah, well..." he scoffed. "I'm not the one who's taken to my bed for the past three days--"

"Oh, well _excuse me,_ for not being quite as calloused about killing people, as you Sacha," she hissed at him. _"Excuse me,_ for mourning my brother. That doesn't have anything to do with the fact that I'm a woman--"

"No! It doesn't!" Sacha interrupted, fighting to keep from raising his voice as he pointed at her with the spoon. "I never said that it did! This has nothing to do with the fact that you're a woman. For fuck's sake! It has everything to do with the fact that I love you," he said before he could stop himself, too angry to lie, wielding the words like a blunt weapon.

Katya's features instantly softened. "What did you say?!" she said hoarsely, stricken with it.

"...I love you, Katya," he repeated scathingly, leaning in so he was in her space and holding her pained eyes, trying to be more courageous about love than about guilt.

"But you said..." she started. "I mean, I love you, too?" she answered in a confused tone that made Sacha break out of his anger, snickering with quiet incredulity at the look on her face. "But you said that you were only interested in men," Katya complained.

"I know," he replied with a slight tilt of his head, not at all sure how to explain.

Katya's eyes darted back and forth, calculating. "You... changed your mind?" 

"Not... exactly..." 

"So, what?" she said, only the tiniest amount of annoyance in her voice. "You just love me like a sister?" 

"No..."

"Like a friend?"

"N-no..."

"Sacha..." she said, covering his hand with her own over her knee. "I'm really trying to understand." He nodded apologetically. In all honesty, he was trying to understand, too. "I've tried so hard not to feel this way," Katya pleaded. "Because I thought you didn't feel the same. If I let myself give in to it now... there's no turning back for me."

"I know..." Sacha sighed gruffly. He probably shouldn't have said anything, but it was the truth, as complicated as it was. And he couldn't very well take it back now. He could no sooner take back those three words than bring the dead back to life.

She scooted a bit closer to him, still holding the borscht which was no doubt going cold, but Katya was too occupied with grabbing hold of Sacha's chin and making him look at her. "If you really love me, then you'll understand," she said gravely. "My mother is dead. My father is dead, and now my brother is dead. All casualties in a war that hasn't even started yet." Sacha swallowed hard, trying to absorb her words, not sure where she was going with it. She just shook her head, a slight motion, like she was disappointed in something. "I can't leave. I can't abandon my post. Not until I am sure that war will never happen."

 

* * *

 

**Saturday, May 27, 1944**

The Molotki had set up shop in an apartment on a sidestreet near a busy market. Cain held Katya's hand, letting her lead him through the busy crowds, feeling on edge in the buzzing throng with the roar of the  _Princess’s_  engines not quite out of his ears.

Katya turned to him at the front stoop of the building, keen eyes wandering above them, expecting no doubt that they were being watched. She stepped close to him so she could speak softly, gracefully adjusting her raven hair, which was up in fashionable curls like the girls back home wore. “This may be the last time we send you to Istanbul, Sacha,” she said, her tone belying that she was caught between talking about their work and more personal matters. “I’m not sure when we’ll see each other again.”

“Right…” Cain answered, looking down at the ground, not sure what else to say.

“And who knows when Aleks will visit you next, if at all? He might decide it’s not worth the risk. In that case, I don't know how I would get a message to you,” she said anxiously.

“You can always write to my mom,” Cain reminded her, trying to stay optimistic. “You have my address in the States right?” he asked, and Katya nodded with slight uncertainty. “She can translate the message and include it in her letters when she writes me. I’ve talked to her about it. Just make sure it’s not something too… ‘personal’...”

That made Katya snicker a little, since they both knew he meant spy-related stuff and not something more risque. “I will do that,” she agreed with a more confident grin. “Maybe we will see each other once the war is over. If what you told Aleks is true, it may not be much longer.”

Cain sighed heavily. If only things were as simple as that. “Yes, but what about the next war?” he whispered, just as a car rolled behind him and muffled his words even more. “The one we’re trying to prevent?”

“We’ll see,” Katya whispered back, frozen as she met his eyes like she wanted to be closer to him but knew she shouldn’t. “We’ll figure something out.”

Cain frowned, not sure if she was talking about the war or staying in touch, or maybe both. He hated the idea of leaving her here, a lone mole in the company of men that he wouldn’t trust with her even if she’d been loyal to them. Out of all of his comrades in arms, Katya was the bravest person he’d ever known. He swallowed hard, letting it sink in that this time, he might be leaving her for good. He knew he should say something, something that made some kind of sense out of their complicated feelings for each other. Even if he’d tried to explain it to her in the past, he never felt like he quite said it right.  “Katya, I--”

That was as far as he got before she rushed forward and hugged him tight. “It’s okay, Sacha. You don’t have to say anything,” she said gently, her voice thick like she might cry. “We’ve already said everything that needs to be said.”

Cain wasn’t quite sure that was true, but he didn’t resist, instead just running a hand over Katya’s dark but sun-warmed hair and letting her hold onto him. “Okay,” he said quietly.

“Besides!” Katya chirped emptily, pulling away. “We’ll see each other again. I know it.”

He nodded, wanting to believe her, wanting it to be true so it would be alright if he didn’t leave things completely resolved. But apparently things weren't resolved for her either, because she opened her mouth and quickly closed it, fighting with something she wanted to say. "It's... different with him... isn't it? With Ethan?" she said finally.

"What do you mean, different?" Cain asked.

"Different than with Keeler?"

"Oh... definitely," he nodded, trying not to smile too much, as he wrestled with the comparison in his mind. "Yeah."

"Good," she said. "You know, you've had love without sex, and sex without love..." she observed, weighing the two concepts in her hands like twin scales. "Maybe you could try having both for a change."

"Hehe, right," Cain chuckled, proud of her for being such a good sport. He let himself smile a little bigger. 

"Do you think... you could have both?" Katya asked shyly. "With him?"

He thought about it for a moment, nodding slowly, trying to temper his feelings against the short time that he and Abel had known each other. "Well, it's a bit early yet.... but yeah... I think I could."

"Then I approve," Katya declared brightly.

"Tch! Oh, thanks!" Cain teased, both of them laughing quietly. "I don't really recall asking for your permission?"

Katya just silently crossed her arms, giving him a sort of blank, determined look that said the matter had been decided whether he liked it or not. 

"Ha, okay, well..." Cain hesitated, not really wanting to say goodbye. "I better get going. I don't want to leave him by himself for too long--" 

“You’d better not let him leave the plane, Sacha,” Katya scolded, her mood changed as sudden as a gust of wind. “There are people with cameras everywhere. Honestly, I still don't know what you were thinking...”

“I know,” Cain insisted with a small shrug. “We’ll most likely eat and then fly straight home.”

“Wait here,” Katya commanded. “I’ll get you something,” she said, and disappeared through the door before Cain could protest.

 

* * *

 

Abel sat in the belly of the plane, waiting, trying to enjoy the afternoon breeze as it wafted in from the opening in the bottom of the plane, in just his standard issue trousers and an A-shirt. Realizing he was shaking, he hugged his knees, and tried to imagine he wasn’t so very far from home. Istanbul was the furthest away he’d ever been, but more than that, he was away from the American installation now, and therefore alone in some new way he didn't even know was possible.

A metallic thud interrupted his thoughts, as a burlap bag flew up into the opening and landed on the floor. A hand and Cain’s voice followed soon after. “Give me a hand, will you?”

Abel stood quickly and rushed over, taking another bag as Cain lifted it to him, and then pulling the man himself up into the plane. Cain dusted himself off and found the other bag. “Here. We have C rations and some bread and fruit that Katya sent for dinner.”

“Oh,” Abel said, trying to keep his voice steady. “That was swell of her.”

“Hmph…” Cain grunted as he sat down with his bag of food and started fumbling around in his pocket.

Abel sat opposite him, grabbing the other bag and curiously pulling it open. “I guess that means she doesn’t hate m--- Oh!” He startled at the sudden sound of a knife clicking open, staring in wide-eyed horror at Cain, who had the blade pointed right in Abel’s direction.

“Ethan,” Cain said with a somewhat annoyed frown. “I just need to open the cans and slice the fruit,” he explained, cutting into an apricot.

“Oh…” But it was too late, Abel was already coming apart, the sudden presence of a weapon too much on top of everything else. He was shaking even more now, trying somehow to keep from panicking with a hand over his mouth. “Oh…” he repeated underneath it, not having the sanity to say anything else.

It took a few seconds for Cain to look up from his apricot and notice Abel falling apart. “Jesus Christ… sweetheart!” he exclaimed, worried and scolding at the same time as he folded the knife back into it’s handle and put it back in his pocket.

“I’m alright… I'm alright… I’m sorry,” Abel sobbed without really crying, hiding his face behind his hands. “I just… I did a really stupid thing by coming here didn’t I --”

Cain sighed, and scooted over so he was close enough that Abel could feel the heat of his shoulder. He pulled Abel’s hands away from his face and made him look at him, running a soft thumb across his jaw and then across the scar he’d put on Abel’s lip that morning. “Open your mouth,” he murmured, before pressing his lips to Abel’s.

Abel parted his lips, expecting his tongue to meet Cain’s tongue, but instead it was something sweet and soft, and Abel realized it was a bit of apricot Cain was feeding him though a kiss. Abel hummed a little at the taste and the unexpected sensuality of it, and Cain chuckled at him, pleased with himself as he ran his tongue over Abel’s bottom lip and then kissed it again. “You’re safe with me,” Cain whispered, giving him a significant look that made Abel remember his own words from the night before. Then Cain just abruptly scooted back to his pile of cans and went back to what he was doing, leaving Abel breathless and reeling and still unsure of what he was supposed to believe.

“I’ll just... feel a lot better when we get back to the base,” he said nervously, distracting himself by unloading the contents of his burlap bag.

“Yeah. We should fly back tonight,” Cain answered. “It’ll be a lot easier with you helping me.”

Abel glanced up from tearing a loaf of bread into two halves. “You want me to fly?”

Cain tilted his head back and forth, dancing around something. “I was thinking, maybe you could navigate.”

“In the dark?!” Abel yelped, and Cain just nodded, as he’d stuffed his mouth with more apricot.

“I… I haven’t done that since flight school,” Abel admitted.

“But even then,” Cain said, his mouth still full. “You were probably flying and navigating altogether.”

“Well sure…” Abel pondered. “But it wasn’t a several-hundred-mile trip either.”

Cain swallowed his bite of apricot and gave Abel a serious look, just studying him for a moment. “How did you do--” 

“I did fine,” Abel answered too quickly, finding himself rolling his eyes defensively as if it should have been obvious.

Cain nodded, a smug smile on his face as he leaned forward and grabbed half the loaf of bread out of Abel's hand.

**Author's Note:**

> This story is on hiatus. Thanks for reading though :)


End file.
